


The Life We Never Imagined

by LerxstInSpace



Series: Contingency Plan-verse Good++ Ending [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adam (Voltron) Lives, Character Death Fix, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Married Curtis/Shiro (Voltron), Multi, Mutual Pining, Past Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Past Curtis/Adam (Voltron), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Poly, Slow Burn, triple mobius reacharound of oblivious pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-04-23 04:00:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 128,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19143148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LerxstInSpace/pseuds/LerxstInSpace
Summary: It’s not that Shiro means to do what he does on the way to bed that night but the door to the guest room is open, just a crack, and the sliver of pale light his shoulder throws through the door lands on Adam just as Shiro glances that way. It hits him like a punch in the gut all over again.He’s alive. He’s okay. He’s home.Shiro stands there just outside the door, watching the slow rise and fall of Adam’s chest in the near-darkness for a lot longer than he really meant to. Long enough that when he feels Curtis’ arms slide around his waist from behind, his initial reaction is something like embarrassment. But Curtis doesn’t say anything. He just rests his chin on Shiro’s shoulder and watches Adam sleep too.“This is really happening,” Shiro whispers. “He’s really here. Right here. In our house.”Curtis nods, his chin gently digging into the tight muscle under it. “It’s really happening.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm doing this as a separate series because on the one hand, I do like the idea of Shiro and Curtis both still keeping a special place for Adam in their hearts and of him being such a big part of both of their lives even though he's gone.
> 
> On the other, I WANT ALL THREE OF THEM TO BE HAPPY, GODDAMMIT.
> 
> So here is the Contingency Plan-verse Good++ Ending, in which Adam Aten't Dead And Everyone Is Happy (Or At Least They Are Eventually But Y'all Know Me And You Know I Can't Make It Easy On Them)

_He knows it’s too late._

 

_Even if they tried to fall back now, they’re outnumbered, outgunned, and surrounded. All they can do is buy as much time as they can. He’s afraid that won’t be much. His squadron is down to two._

 

_And then it’s down to one._

 

_And now Adam can clearly see the time on that countdown clock he’s felt hovering over his head for the last few months. It’s down to seconds._

 

_He wishes he’d spent more time working on the ramming maneuver in the simulator, instead of trying to fire on the cannon. It’s a one in a million chance and whether he hits or not, he’s not coming back._

 

_But he has to try it. There’s nothing else he can do._

 

_This isn’t the life Adam imagined for himself when he was younger._

 

_It isn’t the life he imagined even a few short years ago._

 

_It sure as hell isn’t the way he imagined he’d die._

 

 _And as it turns out... it_ isn’t _the way he dies._

 

* * *

 

There are a lot of holes in Adam’s memory and it will take a whole lot of love and care and patience and a hell of a lot of therapy before he even starts to come to terms with what’s in them but this is what he remembers:

 

He remembers a bright light, searing heat, and the sickening sensation of his fighter being yanked out of the air.

 

He remembers waking up to near-darkness and the smell of blood and sweat and sickness. He can barely move. His left arm and shoulder and the left side of his chest and his face are somehow both numb and burning at the same time. He can’t see out of his left eye. Two of his pilots are in the cell with him. He hardly recognizes McCarley and thinks he might already be dead--he’s not moving and Adam hopes like hell it’s just the darkness playing tricks on his vision but it looks like half his face is missing. Yanez is sitting against the wall, eyes open and unfocused, breath ragged, left leg missing below the knee and the stump crudely tied off with dirty rags. Adam tries to say something to her, anything, but he passes out again before he can form the words.

 

He remembers a sentry dragging Yanez’s limp body out, leaving him alone in the cell. He doesn’t remember when they took McCarley away.

 

He remembers the sound of a metal bowl scraping through the slot in the bottom of the door. The cries and whimpers and worse from the other cells. The heavy metallic footsteps of the sentries making their rounds in the hallway. The jeers and laughter of the occasional live guards that come to the prison block to make sure everything is in order or to fuck with the prisoners when they get bored. Usually the latter.

 

He remembers itching, scratching and scratching until his scalp is raw and his hair is matted with blood, knowing he’s making it worse and still scratching.

 

He remembers mouthing off to a guard once. Only once.

 

He remembers being punished for that and wishes he didn’t.

 

One of the last things he remembers from the prison ship is the sound of shouting and gunfire outside his cell. There’s an explosion somewhere. When the door opens this time, it's not a guard, it’s not a sentry, he doesn’t know who or even _what_ they are but he summons all the strength he has left and staggers to his feet and takes a weak swing at them anyway. The alien gently catches Adam’s fist between their hands and holds on just firmly enough to help keep him upright. “Easy, friend. I’m not going to hurt you. Can you walk?”

 

The alien’s soft voice and kind eyes and the lack of consequences for that punch throw Adam so far off guard he doesn’t know what else to do but see if he can. He takes two wobbly steps on his own and his legs give out, and the alien catches him before he even comes close to hitting the floor.

 

“Okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” The alien scoops him up in their arms like he weighs nothing and ducks back out into the corridor.

 

As they leave his cell Adam raises his head to see if he can see what’s happening. He sees guards and sentries slumped against the walls and sprawled on the floor. He sees other aliens dressed like the one carrying him coming out of the other cells, some of them carrying other prisoners out or guiding the ones who can walk, some of them coming out with empty hands and haunted eyes, shaking their heads.

 

He doesn’t see any other humans.

 

“We’re taking you somewhere safe,” the tall alien carrying him says. “You’re going to be okay.”

 

Adam is helpless right now, cradled in the alien’s arms, too weak to escape or fight back. All he can do is let whatever happens happen. So he closes his eyes, lets his head drop onto the alien’s shoulder, and hopes like hell that if they’re not telling the truth, they’ll at least make it quick.

 

* * *

 

Adam wakes up on a cot in a room that's too bare and too clean and too brightly lit to be anything but a hospital room. He feels weak and a little groggy, like he’s slept for way too long. He still can’t see out of his left eye and the light makes his other one ache and water.

 

When it finally adjusts, he sees an IV in his arm delivering some kind of clear fluid and for one panicked moment he thinks he’s being drugged and whoever has him now is trying to keep him docile so they can do--whatever the fuck it is they plan on doing to him. But then common sense prevails. If he’s waking up while it’s plugged into him, it’s probably not spiked with sedatives or anything. Besides, other than the IV, he’s not restrained in any way and the door of the room he’s in looks like it can be opened from this side.

 

His hands tremble with the effort it takes to hold them up and look at them, and his wrists and fingers are nothing but skin and bones. There’s a pale web of scar tissue and fresh too-thin skin crawling up his left hand and forearm and under the short sleeve of his shirt, and his left hand and arm feel stiff, almost like his skin is too tight. But his hands are clean. There’s no blood or dirt caked under his fingernails. His head doesn’t itch anymore, either. It feels strangely cool and when he reaches up to run a hand through his hair, he finds nothing but a few days’ worth of fuzzy stubble.

 

There’s a sink in the corner of the room, or at least something that looks like one, and he feels like he needs to wash his face and maybe get a drink of water. He also needs to find a bathroom, and he has mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, it’s good to know that his kidneys still work. On the other, if this is some kind of space hospital or something... well, he hopes like hell the facilities are compatible with human pants parts.

 

He carefully unplugs himself from that IV, hissing a little as the needle slides free, and wriggles his way upright. He sets his bare feet on the cool tile floor and has to sit there for a moment until his head stops spinning, but while he does he looks down and notices that his feet are clean too. There’s a faint smell clinging to his skin. Kind of herbal, kind of medicinal, unfamiliar but not unpleasant.

 

Someone has stripped him of his filthy prison garb and bathed him and dressed him in ill-fitting but clean and comfortable clothes--loose drawstring pants and something like a T-shirt, both made of the same soft, thin material. They’ve treated his wounds and whatever infections he probably brought with him and kept his fluids up and gotten rid of whatever was making his head itch. They’ve put him on a cot with a pillow and a blanket, put some effort into making him comfortable.

 

Adam remembers the tall alien carrying him and realizes they were telling the truth. Someone has been taking care of him here.

 

It’s going to take some time for him to get used to the idea again but this place, wherever it is, is safe.

 

There’s a pair of slippers next to the cot. They feel a little too fragile for daily wear, but they’ll keep his toes warm for now. He stands up, sways in place until he finds his balance, and carefully picks his way to the sink. He _still_ can't see out of his left eye. But his right seems to work fine, at least as fine as it ever works without his glasses. There’s a small mirror above the sink, and as he’s rubbing clean water on his face Adam makes the mistake of looking up at it and he sees his reflection for the first time since the morning of the invasion.

 

Oh.

 

Oh God.

 

 _Well,_ he thinks grimly as the sight leaves him dry-heaving over the sink, _no fucking wonder I can’t see out of it._

 

But it could have been worse.

 

He could have died. He could have lost _both_ eyes. He could have lost limbs. He could have been paralyzed. He can still walk, talk, hear, see, think, maybe even fight if he has to.

 

It could have been _so much goddamn worse._

 

* * *

 

When Adam takes a few cautious steps out of the room he woke up in, he sees an alien in what looks like white scrubs coming out of the room next door, tapping on a tablet thingy. There’s no way in hell he can figure out what gender--if any--this person is. They’re about his height, roughly humanoid in shape except with longer arms. They have a tail sticking out the back of their pants, long and whippy with a puff of white hair at the very end. Their head is vaguely humanoid as well, but their eyes are on the top, like a frog’s. Their skin is bluish-green, with a another tuft of white hair between their eyes.

 

The alien looks up from their tablet, right at Adam, and his fight-or-flight response threatens to kick in until the alien raises one hand in a friendly wave. “Oh, hey,” the alien says. “Good to see you up and about. Feeling better?”

 

Adam swallows and tries to relax. “Y-yeah.”

 

The alien bobs their head. It’s not quite a nod, but it feels like one. “Good deal. You were in pretty bad shape when they brought you in. You oughta go get some grub, the food’s not great but far as I know it’s all safe for human people.”

 

_Human people._

 

They know what a human is. That means Adam is not the first human they’ve come across. “Are there any other, uh... human people here? Did you find any others in the--the prison or wherever I was?”

 

“Ooh. No.” The alien shakes their head. “Not still alive, anyway. Just you.”

 

Just him.

 

Out of his whole squadron, he’s the only survivor.

 

_God._

 

“You got a name?” the alien--the _doctor_ asks. It occurs to Adam that he’s got no room to call anyone an alien around here. If anything, _he’s_ the alien. “Mine’s Durva.”

 

“Adam.” He puts out a hand, and that at least seems to be a more or less universal gesture. Durva shakes it. “Do you... do you know what happened to Earth?”

 

“Earth,” Durva repeats like they’ve never heard the name. “That’s where human people come from, yeah? If that’s in the system Sendak’s tearing up right now it’s probably not good. Lucky for you, he decided to send your ship off somewhere else. Probably meant to take you to one of the work camps or the gladiator arenas, only place the prison ships ever really go.” Durva does a thing with their face Adam guesses is probably a smile. It doesn’t look much like one, but it feels like one. “Sucks for them they ran into our guys first, huh? Anyway, you’re gonna be okay. We’re taking you somewhere good and safe. They’ve got a good med facility there, might be able to fix you up with a new eye if you want. You can hang there long as you want, or maybe see if you can get a ride somewhere else.”

 

“Somewhere else? Where the fuck do you think I’d want to go, other than Earth?” Adam snaps and immediately regrets it, unconsciously pulls back and draws in on himself a little, braces for what happened the last time he shot his mouth off at an alien.

 

It doesn’t happen with this one. It won’t happen with this one. And if Durva notices him tensing up, they have the decency to not call attention to it. Adam tells himself again that wherever this place is, it’s safe. _He’s_ safe. And now he feels bad for yelling at someone who’s just trying to help him. “...sorry,” he sighs, and Durva does that head-bob thing again.

 

“Don’t sweat it. You’ve had a rough time, can’t blame you.”

 

Still, the fact remains that he has no idea where he is, or how long he’s been there, or where this “good and safe” place they’re apparently taking him is, or what’s happened to Earth or his family or Curtis or Takashi or Keith and he can’t just sit here waiting to find out. He needs to get home and get back in the fight. Iverson and/or Sanda will probably have some shit to say to him about his impaired vision and hey, that’s fair. Adam has a great many things to say to both of them, too. Things that will very likely involve liberal use of the word “fuck,” and there’s a non-zero chance that he’ll just let his knuckles do the talking on at least a few points, and this discussion will probably get him court-martialed or dishonorably discharged or both and it will be _worth it_. But he can’t just sit on his ass out here wherever “here” is, not when Curtis is still on Earth, not when Takashi is--

 

“Listen. I get it.” Durva pats him on the shoulder. “They got my home too. Sucks wanting to do something about it but knowing you can’t. And you can’t. Trust me. You’re one guy and no offense, but you’re barely walking right now. You wouldn’t stand a chance out there.”

 

 _I have to,_ Adam tries to say. _I have to, you don’t understand, I have to go back, I have to help them..._

 

But Durva is right and he knows it. He’s already tried it, after all. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt and the scars. Knowing it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow, though. “I hate this.”

 

“I know.” Durva gives him another little pat on the shoulder. “Believe me, I know. And when we get where we’re going, if you’re up to it, we’ll find something you can do to help us out. But right now the only mission you got is to rest up and get healthy. ‘Kay?”

 

 _I still fucking hate this,_ Adam thinks, but he huffs out a sigh and nods anyway.

 

“‘Kay.” Durva looks down at their tablet thing again. “Tell you what. Lemme finish my rounds real quick and then we’ll go get you fed and show you around.”

 

* * *

 

Adam’s mouth isn’t particularly hungry and like Durva said the food isn’t great, but after the first bite he can practically feel his stomach making grabby-hands for more. The last decent meal he had was breakfast on the morning of the invasion. He has no idea how long ago that was. Long enough that he’s lost a pretty alarming amount of weight, and he didn’t have much to spare in the first place.

 

There are some brightly colored packets of bite-sized crunchy things that leave unnaturally-colored powder on his fingertips. They don’t taste exactly like anything Adam can put a name to. They taste good, though. Mostly salty, kind of umami, kind of a sweet-spicy finish. But this stuff is clearly junk food, and he needs something more nutritious.

 

The hot food from the serving line is... well... it’s food, that’s about the nicest thing Adam has to say about it. Still, unlike the cold slurry of rotting table scraps the Galra shoved under his cell door when they felt like it, someone clearly put at least a half-assed effort into making this stuff palatable. There are condiments on the tables. Some of them are pretty good, some of them are _meh,_ and a couple of them were definitely not meant for human person taste buds. There’s even some kind of parsley-like stuff sprinkled on the food. It does nothing to improve the taste, but at least it makes the starchy beige mush and the disturbingly smooth slice of ... _protein_ look a little more appealing.

 

He’s on a rebel ship, Durva tells him while he eats, heading for a safe planet where they’ll let him off and give him a place to stay for now, where he can hole up until the weather clears back home. Or if he wants, he can join up with the rebels. Durva mentions another human person who did that. He’s not on this ship and they’re not sure where he is right now, but he came to them much the same way--he got busted out of a prison ship.

 

 _Matt,_ Adam realizes all at once, _they’re talking about Matt Holt!_

 

Holy shit. Maybe he can get hold of Matt somehow, maybe convince him to figure out a way to get them home, pull rank on the kid if he has to.

 

...he won’t actually do that and he knows it and besides, Matt probably outranks _him_ in this outfit. So much for that idea.

 

Still, if nothing else, if absolutely nothing else... it’d be good to hear a friendly human voice. One that’s been in contact with Takashi relatively recently, even.

 

* * *

 

He eventually gets more specific answers to the questions of where the ship is and where it’s going, but they don’t really tell him much other than “really far away from Earth” and “a planet called Ebb, even farther away from Earth.” They’re currently in a galaxy Earth astronomers don’t even know _exists,_ for God’s sake.

 

Adam is free to go pretty much anywhere on the ship other than engineering and the cockpit, and those two are really only off limits for safety reasons. They’ve given him a little cabin with two other rescued prisoners. It’s not much, but he’s got a safe place to sleep and a change of clothes and a little bit of privacy.

 

The bathroom is a communal deal. The facilities are mostly compatible with human person pants parts, although there are a few fixtures whose operational procedures Adam can’t even begin to guess at and isn’t sure he really wants to. He’s a little nervous about peeing in there at first and even more nervous about showering, mostly because he’s afraid he’s going to end up getting his ass kicked for--look, Adam is a firm believer in the _eyes forward, no talking, leave a goddamn buffer_ rule of urinal etiquette because he wasn’t raised in a fucking barn. But this is a ship full of non-human people with non-human-people junk and he’s afraid his curiosity might get the better of him at the worst possible time. But everyone else seems to respect that all-important rule as much as he does, and it all works out okay.

 

There’s a rec room with a machine that looks and works kind of like an air hockey table and a few video games, and there’s a media room with a screen playing assorted alien sitcoms and movies and stuff like that. There are some magazines lying around, old and worn. Adam can’t read the text but there are pictures, and he can’t help but laugh at how much is the same all the way out here on the other side of the universe--there are pictures of what look like celebrities in the latest and finest fashions, and pictures of people who were clearly caught in the act of doing something they didn’t want photographed. There are ads, most notably one featuring a stereotypical grey alien wearing the most ridiculous sparkly suit and ball cap, hawking brooms and lava lamps and oddly familiar-looking toys and there’s something to do with... cows?

 

There’s a training deck. At first Adam can barely walk from his cabin to the lift that’ll take him there without needing to sit down for a minute, but after a couple of days of rest and regular meals he manages a few minutes on the treadmill here, a couple of push-ups there. It’s progress, but he still hates it. Before the invasion, he ran ten miles almost every evening. Now he might be able to keep up an easy jog for five minutes at a time on a good day and he feels weak and useless and _he hates it._ He knows he’s lucky to be alive. He knows he won’t be back at a hundred percent overnight and he’s trying to be patient with himself but it’s so fucking _hard._

 

He asks about the tall alien--the tall _person_ with the soft voice and the kind eyes, the one who carried him out of his cell. Apparently they’re from another ship, the one that actually ambushed the prison ship, and that crew transferred all the freed prisoners to _this_ ship before going off to do whatever it was they needed to do next. Adam hopes they’re okay, wherever they are.

 

He asks around a little about trying to get hold of Matt. Some of the crew members know his name, and one of them calls up to the cockpit once to see if they can raise him. No luck. Well, with the shit hitting the fan in Earth’s part of the universe, things are a little chaotic and he’s probably busy. Adam hopes like hell he’s okay. Maybe he’ll try again when they get to Ebb.

 

He asks around a little about Voltron and what he hears isn’t promising. The word on the ship is that nobody’s seen or heard any sign of Voltron in at least two decaphoebs. Adam has no idea what the fuck a decaphoeb is, but it sounds like a long time.

 

He tries not to think about what might be happening to the planet and the people he left behind. There’s nothing he can do about any of it right now, he reminds himself. When they get to Ebb, he’ll see if he can find someone who can get him in touch with Matt and then... he doesn’t know. He’ll figure it out.

 

* * *

 

It’s hard to say how long Adam has been on the rebel ship and impossible to say how long he was on the prison ship before that. The Galra took everything he had on him, including his watch. His memory is Swiss cheese and even what he does remember doesn’t give him much of an indication--they kept the cells dark pretty much all the time, except when the guards felt like fucking with the prisoners and turned the lights on full blast. He must have been there for some number of months, judging by the amount of weight and strength he lost, but that’s the best guesstimate he can come up with. It doesn’t help that they don’t measure time in hours or days or weeks out here, it’s all _vargas_ and _quintants_ and _movements_ and so on.

 

But if he had to guess, he’d say he’s been there about a couple of weeks or so when the announcement comes.

 

“Attention crew n’ passengers, this is yer Captain speaking,” Adam hears the pilot say over the ship’s intercom in such a beautifully and completely unintentionally executed imitation of every airline pilot he’s ever heard on Earth that it makes him laugh and makes his heart ache a little, “Good news is, we’re about three vargas out from Ebb. Bad news is, we gotta go through an asteroid belt to get there. Nothin’ to worry about but you might feel a bump or two so you might wanna watch yer footing an’ yer heads til we’re out of it.”

 

An asteroid belt, huh? Might be interesting to look at, at least.

 

But the window in the Adam’s cabin is tiny, and deep space is dark, and he can barely see anything but the occasional darker blob blotting out the stars.

 

Then he can barely see the stars at all--is this belt _that_ dense? That’s... that’s a little unsettling. But the pilot seems to know what he’s doing, so Adam tries not to let that bother him too much.

 

He closes the shade and goes back to straightening up the cabin. It doesn’t really need it. His roommates are pretty tidy and none of them have a single thing to their name other than the clothes on their backs and an extra set of identical clothes folded up on a shelf right now. But it’s something at least somewhat constructive to pass the time.

 

There’s a bump, somewhere below. Adam can feel it in the soles of his feet more than hear it. His roommates don’t seem to notice, so it’s probably not a big deal. The ship has shields, right? It probably just hit the shield.

 

Adam decides the cabin is clean enough and heads out into the corridor. He hasn’t quite got the galley’s meal schedule figured out yet, but the common room in the bunk block has vending machines set to dispense beverages and packets of junk food free of charge.

 

He gets a pack of those salty crunchy things and a can of something bubbly and not too sweet, parks himself on a bench, and leafs through yet another alien magazine someone left there. There’s another bump a few minutes later, starboard side. That one gets some raised eyebrows and mildly worried looks from his fellow rescued prisoners, but the crew doesn’t seem to be concerned about it.

 

Then there’s another bump. And another. None of them particularly meaty, but the frequency is starting to freak Adam out a little. Even the crew is starting to raise a few eyestalks and other appendages, but they go on about their business as best they can.

 

“Weird,” one of them says to another, though there’s not much alarm in her tone. “It’s usually not this heavy.”

 

“Meh,” the other says. “It’s an asteroid belt. It happens.”

 

They go back to their snacks, and Adam goes back to his.

 

It’s probably nothing.

 

And then there’s a _big_ bump, one big enough to knock people off their feet, one big enough to set off an alarm somewhere, and Adam feels the bottom drop out of his stomach. That’s not normal. He’s never been in a ship flying through an asteroid field for real but he knows that _can’t_ be normal.

 

There’s another heavy thump, and _another,_ and then there’s a sickening wrenching noise somewhere far aft of him and then a lot of things start happening very, very fast. There’s an alarm, very close by. Someone grabs him by the wrist and drags him forward, out of the bunk block, yanks him through a bulkhead door just before it slams and seals.

 

He hears the phrase _hull breach._

 

He hears freed prisoners and crew alike screaming and part of him wants to join in but then he hears a new voice over the intercom, one he hasn’t heard from the cockpit yet--

 

“H-hello? Someone help, please, there was a--the pilot is--is there anyone on board who can fly a freighter?”

 

And that drags Adam all the way through the rising panic, all the way out the other side of it, and back into clarity.

 

All right. Yes, Adam is a fighter pilot and sure, this is an alien ship but how goddamn different can it be, as long as he can figure out which bit is the throttle and which is the stick and maybe if someone can read the alien instrument bullshit out loud to him--

 

What else can he do? Certainly not sit on his ass back here and hope someone else deals with it.

 

He stumbles and staggers and shoves his way up to the cockpit and finds chaos. Alarms are blaring. The pilot is sprawled out on the floor. Still alive, Adam hopes, but he’s clearly cracked his head on something and he’s out cold and a makeshift bandage hastily tied around his head is soaked nearly through with blood. A little birdlike guy Adam guesses is the navigator is hanging over the back of the pilot’s seat, both hands in a death grip on the stick, frantically trying without much success to keep the ship steady through the asteroid field. “Give me the stick,” Adam says as gently as he can through his teeth. “And see if you can get Durva up here to help the pilot.”

 

“R-right--” The bird guy hops out of Adam’s way and gets on the intercom, and Adam scoots into the pilot’s seat and buckles in. “Dr. Durva? Anyone on the med crew? C-can you come to the cockpit, we need some help, the captain’s hurt and--”

 

“Oof,” Durva’s voice replies, and that doesn’t sound promising. “We’ve got our hands full back here, that last bump did some numbers on folks. I’ll try and send someone up but--wait. Cherrin, who’s flying the ship?”

 

“I am now,” Adam sighs.

 

“Oh frap. Adam? That you?”

 

“Yep.” The controls are pretty much where he’d expect to find them, and they’re sized and shaped for more or less humanoid hands, and when Adam moves the stick and adjusts the throttle the ship behaves pretty much as he expects it to. There’s a blinking alert box in a language he can’t read, but a lot of the instruments seem to be marked with icons instead of text so he can get at least some idea of what they are and what their status is without having to read anything. There’s even a panel on the display with a schematic diagram of the ship and blinking alerts to tell him what parts of them are a little broken (most of them) and what parts are utterly fucked (pretty much the entire ass end of the ship).

 

Okay. He can work with this.

 

“Do what you can, Durva,” Adam says. “I’ll do my best to get us out of here in one piece.”

 

“All right. Stay safe.”

 

“You too.” Okay, yeah, this thing handles pretty much like any cargo ship sim he’s ever flown but God, this would be so much easier if their path was a little clearer. “Hey... Cherrin? _Please_ tell me this thing has guns.”

 

“Um. Yeah.” Cherrin hops into the navigator’s seat. “Guns. Yeah. What do you want me to--”

 

“I want you to _shoot the damn asteroids!”_ Adam snaps, then he shakes his head. Yelling at the poor guy isn’t going to help. “Sorry, just--yeah. As many as you can. Clear a path.” Someone should be on the floor with the pilot, maybe trying to keep some pressure on whatever’s bleeding, but right now their priority is to get the ship out of the asteroid belt. He glances over at Cherrin. He’s short and wisp-thin, with feathers instead of hair and three-fingered hands. “What’s this alert-looking thing here?” Adam asks, tapping on the blinking box of alien text. _And while we’re on the subject,_ he thinks, _is someone going to explain to me how I can understand the words coming out of everyone’s mouth but I can’t_ read _jack shit around here?_

 

“Oh, that’s uh...” Cherrin squints at the blinking box on the pilot’s display. “That’s... oh. It’s... not good.” Adam can hear him swallow over the blaring alarms and chaos. “There’s not enough power to fire the weapons.”

 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Adam groans, more to himself than anyone else.

 

“Yeah, no, it’s--lemme see if I can reroute some--oh. Um. Quiznak.”

 

Adam does not know what a quiznak is, but it sounds bad. “What?”

 

“So basically... we can either shoot the asteroids, or keep the controls working?”

 

Okay. Yeah. Quiznak is bad. Duly noted. “So... is Ebb the closest planet where most of us can go outside and not die?”

 

“Y-yeah, and it’s just a little way past the asteroid belt, right over--wait.” Cherrin pokes on the nav console and stares at it in silence a lot longer than Adam likes. “Wait. Ebb should be--this can’t be right! Where the quiznak are we!?”

 

“What do you mean ‘where the quiznak are we?’ Aren’t you the navigator?”

 

“Um... no? I mean not yet, I-I’m in training, I know how to work the instruments and charts and stuff but mostly the pilot and the senior navigator just send me to the galley to get their hot bean infusion so--”

 

“Fucking _hell!”_ Adam grits his teeth and tries to concentrate on dodging asteroids. He’s managing it, but he’s used to a fighter and trying to steer this thing through a dense asteroid belt feels like trying to run an obstacle course in shoes that are five sizes too big. “Then where’s the senior--no, forget it, can you figure out where we are?”

 

“I--yeah, I think--” Cherrin taps at his console, scans the area and checks whatever he needs to check. “Yeah, okay--there’s a system just on the other side of the asteroid belt, it doesn’t even have a name--the third planet from the sun looks safe, it’s showing uninhabited but it looks like it’s got a breathable atmosphere and water and stuff but--we shouldn’t be--oh, this is all wrong, we shouldn’t--”

 

“Okay, just get me a course. God, what the hell is going on here, where’s the senior navigator--”

 

“He, um.” Cherrin swallows again. “He went off to take a nap, he wasn’t feeling well so--he was probably back in the bunk block when it, um--”

 

Adam remembers someone pulling him through the bulkhead door that led to the bunk block just before it sealed itself off and feels a little sick.

 

“And um... I think he got something mixed up, we’re not even _close_ to where we’re supposed to be--no wonder we’re getting hammered, we’re supposed to cross the asteroid belt way over _here,_ see, that’s the thin spot and there’s Ebb’s system just on the other side but we’re over _here_ \--” Cherrin taps a finger on a bit all the way on the other end of the asteroid belt. And the asteroid belt isn’t the kind they have in Adam’s own little solar system, the kind that settles into a nice little orbit between a couple of planets--oh no, this bastard is _massive,_ less an actual belt and more a colossal river-like flow of giant rocks tumbling through space, weaving between galaxies. Just trying to wrap his brain around the scale of this thing makes Adam dizzy, but this isn’t the time for that.

 

For now, they have much bigger problems. First and foremost, the asteroid belt itself. And once they’re out of it, if they make it to that planet... then what? they’re not even close to the flight path they were supposed to take. They’ve been going in the exact opposite direction for who knows how long.

 

Is anyone going to think to look for them out here?

 

That, too, is going to have to be a problem for Tomorrow Adam. Or at least for Both Feet On Solid Ground And Not Dead Adam.

 

“All right. Just show me how to get to that planet. And see if you can raise someone on the comm, let them know where we are--another rebel ship, a friendly planet, anyone.” There’s another sickening thump, somewhere down the port side of the ship. “How are the shields holding up? Do we even _have_ shields? Tell me we have shields.”

 

“Oh, yeah, we do but--”

 

_“Please don’t ‘but’ me on this, Cherrin, I’m begging you!”_

 

“Um... okay.” Cherrin’s fingers fly over his console. “Just... there’s not enough power. Kind of like the guns, you can have controls or you can have full shields. Okay, I’ve got you a course.”

 

He sends it over to Adam’s console. An overlay appears on the HUD, showing the course like a road stretching out into the distance and--okay. He can do this. He can follow a road thing. That doesn’t involve reading alien bullshit, he just has to follow the course and dodge the asteroids when he needs to. Adam focuses on the display, tries not to pay too much attention to the fact that his navigator isn’t getting any response on the comm, nothing but static and silence. He tries to swallow back the sinking feeling that the transmitter array got smacked by a fuck-off huge asteroid and speaking of fuck-off huge asteroids--

 

“Ah _shit,_ hang on!”

 

There’s really no perfect decision to be made here--it’s “glancing blow to the port side from a big asteroid” or “direct hit from an even bigger asteroid” and Adam chooses the former. There’s another Godawful wrenching noise and he guesses by the blaring alarm and flashing red port engine on the schematic display that the asteroid has taken one of his engines with it--

 

And then the asteroid minefield gives way to clear space and stars.

 

“We’re out!” Cherrin shrieks. “We’re clear!”

 

And that’s great but now Adam has a new problem. He can barely steer the ship now, it’s missing an engine and it’s handling like a grocery cart with a bad wheel and he’s going to get one chance to land it in the fewest possible pieces--no touch and go, no circling around for another shot. So he focuses on the road on his display leading to a blue-green dot that looks _way_ too far away for comfort, concentrates on getting the ship and its passengers there as fast as he can.

 

He tries like hell to aim for a clear green area with water nearby, but there’s not much time to scout out the perfect landing spot and now that he’s hit the atmosphere there’s a whole new set of problems. The good news is, it’s breathable for him and likely most of the people on this ship, if not all of them. The bad news is, oxygen makes it that much more likely they’ll burn up before they can--

 

No. Best not to think about that right now.

 

“Get on the intercom and tell everyone to strap in if they can, brace if they can’t, whatever they have to do to--you too, Cherrin! Buckle up!” He hits a patch of turbulence that threatens to send the ship into a spin, wrestles it back under control, forces the nose up as much as he can. He’s coming in hot and it’s all he can do to keep the ship right-side-up and flying in a straight line. “This is going to be a _really_ rough landing!”

 

The first impact is the worst. Adam swears he felt something crumple below his feet. Or that might have been his spine. He’s not sure. The ship bounces once, twice, and the third time it hits ground it stays down, but it’s not over yet. The ship skids on its belly for what feels like miles, through a field, through a stand of trees, and finally, _finally,_ friction and gravity win out over the ship’s forward motion and it shudders to a stop.

 

For a long, long moment Adam can’t make himself let go of the controls, can’t look at anything other than the dark display right in front of his face. He’s still alive. He’s going to be sore later, and probably bruised all to hell, but nothing is broken and he’s not even bleeding much. There is a non-zero chance he is going to pass out or throw up or both when he stands up. But as far as actual injuries go... cuts and scrapes. That’s about it.

 

“Holy _frap,”_ Cherrin wheezes. “Are--are you okay?”

 

“Let me get back to you on that,” Adam says. Probably not going to pass out. Almost certainly going to throw up. May have peed a little. “How about you?”

 

“I’ve--” Cherrin laughs, and if there’s a little bit of a hysterical edge in it Adam sure isn’t going to call it out. “I’ve been worse?”

 

“Okay.” _Let go of the stick,_ Adam tells himself. His fingers don’t comply. _Let go. Nothing else you can do with it, you need to get out of here, get the pilot out of here, check on everyone else, help Durva, check out the area, see what we need to do next. Come on. Let go. Right now._ His jaw aches. Why does his jaw ache? Maybe because he’s got his teeth clenched so tight he can almost feel them crumbling into fine powder. _Let go. Of. The fucking. Stick._

 

He swears he can hear his knuckles creak when he finally does.

 

* * *

 

When Adam finishes checking the ship for trapped survivors and steps outside, it’s quiet.

 

There’s a single sun, fat and red and low in the sky, and the sky is a riot of oranges and purples on that horizon and deep starry blues on the other. It’s either early morning or late evening, Adam isn’t sure which but the dew on the grass points to the former.

 

The ship has come to rest in a wide green field. There’s a forest not far away with scattered stands of trees leading to it, and on the other side of the field it looks like there’s water--probably a lake. Rolling green hills give way to snow-capped mountains a little beyond that.

 

He hears birds. There are animal tracks in the patches of bare dirt. There are some scraggly little bushes dotted with berries nearby. Some of the tall grass looks like it’s bearing heads of grain. A chubby winged insect crawls out of a flower at Adam’s feet and buzzes away, its fuzzy body covered in pollen.

They’ve already got three of their basic needs met, then. There’s water here. There’s food. They can use the ship for shelter.

 

That’s about all they can use it for. They don’t have the tools or materials to repair the hull and even if they did, one of the engines is gone. Not “gone” as in “inoperable,” “gone” as in “still floating around somewhere in space.”

 

The comm equipment is totaled too--possibly long before the crash.

 

And they were so far off course that nobody would know where to even start looking for them.

 

* * *

 

There are just over a hundred survivors, both crew and passengers. At least, there are for now. Some of them are in pretty bad shape and unlikely to make it through the night.

 

The pilot must have gotten a harder bump on the head than Cherrin thought and the hard landing couldn’t have helped--he’s still alive, but barely. One of Adam’s roommates is missing. The chief engineer is dead. There’s no trace of the senior navigator, but they still need to get into the bunk block as soon as they can and check for... well, it goes without saying they probably aren’t going to find any survivors in there, but the ones who didn’t make it out in time are probably still in there and need to be properly laid to rest...

 

But Adam is okay. Cherrin is okay. Adam’s other roommate, Ollyx, is injured, but not seriously so. Durva and the rest of the med team are all pretty much okay, which is an unspeakably huge relief--they have their hands full right now, tending to the injured survivors.

 

Most of the crew has some wilderness survival training under their belts, and many of the former prisoners know at least a thing or two about living off the land. And Adam... well, he _taught_ survival. If they keep their wits about them, they’ll be able to stay alive here as long as they have to.

 

They bury or burn their dead and pay their respects, and then they get to work.

 

* * *

 

Cherrin takes a team out to survey the woods, and Adam takes one to the lake. Durva stays with the wreck and tends to the injured, and their team takes inventory of food, medicine, clothing, bedding, tools, weapons, anything that might be useful.

 

There are some survival kits in the cargo hold containing firestarters, bottled water, emergency blankets, fishing line and hooks, and stuff like that. Adam and Cherrin both take kits with them. The lake is huge and crystal clear and teeming with fish, and Adam and his team manage to catch a fair number that look edible. They’ll need to make proper nets and fish traps later. They see some animals come to the shore to drink--some small ones, about the size of a housecat, and some bigger deerlike ones. They bring back some containers of water, too. It’s fresh and it looks clean, and the fact that the animals are drinking it is a good sign, but he figures they should probably boil the hell out of it just in case.  

 

They come back to find Cherrin’s team unloading a makeshift stretcher piled high with fruit. Only what they’d seen animals eating, Cherrin says. There are loads of mushrooms out there, but he didn’t bring any of those back yet. Not until Durva has time to analyze them and see which ones are safe. They also found a stream and some clay deposits out there.

 

There are signs of predators in the forest--scratch marks on trees and other such marking of territory, bones with teeth marks in them, that sort of thing. There’s no sign of anything especially large or dangerous here, though. None of the marks on the trees are farther up the trunk than Cherrin can reach standing flat-footed, and Cherrin is not a big guy. Any predators are likely the sort that would prefer to steer clear of any prey that’s bigger than they are and willing to fight back.

 

There’s still plenty of useful stuff in the wreck--not the least of which is Durva’s lab equipment. They test all the fruit and fish Cherrin and Adam brought back and find it safe. There’s nothing sinister lurking in the water either, but they agree that it probably needs to be boiled before anyone drinks it.

 

They didn’t really need to fish or forage right now. There’s enough galley food in the wreck to last them a while, but everyone is in shock and morale is low and the small comfort of some fresh food couldn’t hurt.

 

As far as Adam can tell, he managed to hit a temperate zone. It’s pleasantly warm out right now, maybe the cool end of shorts weather, though it’s hard to tell what point in the solar cycle they found this place in. It could get colder. It could get hotter. Too much of either could be a problem. They’ll need to track the weather if they’re going to be stuck here for any significant length of time.

 

Hopefully, they won’t be here long enough to need a calendar. Hopefully, they’ll be rescued soon.

 

That, of course, would require someone to know they’re there.

 

While the survivors grill the fish and boil the water, Adam and Cherrin cobble together a distress beacon out of the busted communications equipment. No telling what kind of broadcast range it’s going to have, and there’s no way to record an audio or video message on it. They can program it to send a short series of tiny energy pulses, and that’s about it--a pattern of three short pulses, three long ones, and three more short ones is all they can squeeze out of it. Then they hike up a tall hill to set it up. They hang around after they hook up the solar panel and battery to make sure it’s working, and then they head down to rejoin the rest of the survivors.

 

If Voltron is out there, Takashi or Keith or whichever other human people are with them will recognize that pattern. If not, any friendly ear should be able to tell that’s not a naturally occurring signal and come to investigate. But that would require someone to come into broadcast range, and if this system is so remote it doesn’t even have a name...

 

Nothing they can do about that now.

 

All they can do is wait.

 

* * *

 

They lose another dozen or so survivors before nightfall, including the pilot.

 

* * *

 

The first night is the hardest.

 

Now that the first day’s work is done, the shock of the crash starts to wear off--and for the recently liberated prisoners, the shock of what they’d been through before that.

 

The survivors return to the wreck for the night. The bunk block is... well, there’s still some particularly grim cleanup to be done there, and the more sensitive survivors need to be kept out of that. But there’s enough of the ship left intact for everyone to have a cot or a pallet and not have to step over too many other people to get to it.

 

Most of them at least attempt to sleep. Very few of them succeed.

 

Adam doesn’t even try.

 

He’s been trying not to think too much about Earth, or his squadron, or his family, or Curtis, or Takashi, or Keith, or anything all this time. But now that it’s calm and dark and somewhat quiet, he has nothing else to do and he can’t stop thinking about everything he left behind. The last time he saw the faces of the people who followed him on that fucking suicide mission. The last time he heard Keith and Takashi’s voices, in the messages Sam brought back. The last time he saw their faces in person--the night he left Takashi, the day he drove Keith out to the old house in the desert. The last time he talked to his parents. The last time he saw snow. The last time he woke up next to Curtis. The last time they made love. The last text Adam sent him.

 

He can’t stop thinking about any of it.

 

He puts on his shoes. He picks over the “potentially useful scrap” pile and finds a piece of metal conduit just the right length and thickness to serve him as a quarterstaff if the need arises, and he quietly makes his way outside. He climbs up onto the nose of the wreck, pulls his knees up, and wraps his arms around them.

 

There’s a breeze off the lake. It’s cool and carries the scent of fish and flowers and soil, the same scent as any lake he’s ever been to. With his eye closed it’s easy to imagine that he’s back on Earth.

 

With it open he sees constellations he doesn’t recognize and one moon too many. The sky is beautiful; without the optical poison of city lights the stars are dazzling. The smaller moon is pale orange, and the larger one--currently full--is bluish-green. Maybe in time he’ll come to appreciate the view. But right now, all it does is remind him just how far he is from home.

 

If he had his phone, he could at least listen to some familiar music or look at pictures of the people he loves or scroll through old text conversations. His phone was in his locker at the Garrison, last he saw of it. Everything else he carried--his wallet, his watch, his flight suit and every other stitch of clothing on him right down to his socks and underwear, his fucking _glasses--_ the Galra took it all from him.

 

He has nothing from home. Nothing but his memories. No way to let his loved ones know he’s out here. No way to get back to them.

 

No way to know if there’s even anyone or anything left to get back to.

 

The thought that everyone he’s ever loved and cared about and known might be dead, that his whole planet and everyone on it might be gone forever, that he could be one of the last living humans in the universe, that he could be _the_ last--after everything he’s been through, it’s just too much for him to deal with.

 

Adam drops his forehead onto his knees and breaks down sobbing, grieving for the people he loves and the planet he calls home and the life he can never go back to.

 

* * *

 

When the sun rises the next morning, they’ve lost another five. The good news, if there is any good news in that, is that none of the remaining survivors are so badly injured that there’s any significant danger of losing them too.

 

They start the day burying and burning their dead again, and paying their respects again.

 

When that’s done, Adam picks up his makeshift quarterstaff and hikes up the hill to check on the beacon. It’s still working. It’s been transmitting all night, far as he can tell.

 

While he’s up there, he notices a plant that looks familiar, one with pale flowers and fuzzy leaves. It doesn’t look exactly the same, or smell exactly the same. But he picks a little stalk of it anyway.

 

Adam still isn’t sure how much he believes in the spirits his parents and grandparents taught him to honor with prayers and dances and sage and sweetgrass. He’s even less sure here on this planet on the other side of the universe, where he doesn’t even know which way is east--the sun might rise in the west or north here, who knows?

 

But here he is, standing on alien soil, staring at a plant that sure as hell looks and smells like sage.

 

He’s not sure what that means. He’s not sure it means anything at all. But he takes the little sprig of alien sage back with him and hangs it up over his cot to dry out anyway.

 

* * *

 

By the calendar they’ve been keeping, it’s been forty-eight days since the crash.

 

No ships have come.

 

Adam hikes up the hill where they put up the beacon, using his quarterstaff as a walking stick when he needs to--which he doesn’t anymore, not much. Survival is hard work, but at least it’s helped him get his strength back.

 

The beacon is still running, still sending out its signal. He runs a hand through his hair--it’s still shorter than he’d like, and definitely a little greasier than he’d like. He thinks he might run down to the lake and take a bath later, and he wonders how much longer their soap supply is going to last. Maybe it’s time to start trying to figure out an alternative. _How do you make soap, anyway?_ he wonders. Fat or oil or something, plus... acid? No, that doesn’t sound right. There are some plants back on Earth that make something like soap, maybe something like that grows here.

 

Eh, they’ll figure something out when the need arises. There are enough of them here that someone will know what to do. It’s worked out for them so far.

 

For now, he should probably get back to the wreck. The hunters will be back soon with whatever fresh meat they’re serving with the galley glop today.

 

The food that came with them is starting to run out, but food is one thing they’ll probably never have to worry about as long as they stock enough up for winter. Wild food is plentiful here and enough of the survivors know how to hunt and fish and forage to keep them all fed. They’re only still eating the starchy mush and protein pucks from the wreck because that stuff won’t keep forever and they don’t want it to go to waste.

 

Adam is actually kind of glad the galley food is almost gone. The local stuff tastes so much better.

 

On the third or fourth day a few forward-thinking survivors started saving seeds and pits and other bits of wild fruit and vegetables they thought they might be able to start new plants from, and they took advantage of the wide swath of soil the ship cleared and turned up in its wake to plant a garden. Some of the plants aren’t even close to producing yet, but already there’s a dazzling variety of fruit and vegetables and herbs growing there and more all the time as the survivors discover new ones. Some of them are familiar, or almost familiar--grains, onions, squash, beans, potatoes with a faint gingery tang, melons with thick snow-white rinds and tender blue-violet flesh, a plant that yields both dark spinach-like greens and a rich oily fruit like an avocado. Some of them are like nothing Adam has ever seen or tasted on Earth--like the brineapples.

 

Adam was with the group that discovered that particular plant. They watched some deer-like creatures nibbling on its fruit, figured it must be safe to eat, each picked one and took a careful bite, and then they all spent the rest of the afternoon howling laughter at the noises and faces they all made when they got mouthfuls of salty pulp for their trouble.

 

Ollyx found a nest full of wild flightless bird eggs in the forest a few days after the crash, brought them back, and rigged up an incubator with a solar warmer and some blankets. A few of the survivors shook their heads and laughed... until a couple of weeks later, when the eggs started to hatch. Now the females are almost old enough to put omelettes back on the menu. Ollyx wants to hunt down a few more nests and wait until the flock is a little larger before they put poultry back on there too, but just looking at those yardbirds and imagining bits of them coated in flour and fried is making Adam’s mouth water.

 

The hunters come back with a few of the deer-things and take them out back to process them. There’s talk of trying to domesticate them. It seems like a good idea. They’re a steady source of meat and leather and bones and all sorts of useful things, and it’d be nice to not have to chase them through the woods. There are some other little critters out there too. Adam is sure he’s heard a noise in the forest like the bleating of a goat and he’d like to try and catch a few of those.

 

They probably won’t be here much longer, but it’s something to think about.

 

* * *

 

The weather is turning cooler, but not alarmingly so. Still, they’re making preparations for winter, just in case it turns harsh on them without warning.

 

The little garden patch in the wake of the wreck has grown into a full-blown farm. Although everyone chips in a little weeding or planting or watering or harvesting time once in a while, a group of the survivors have taken the farm on as their main job. They’re learning better ways to arrange the crops, and better ways to keep them watered and fertilized, and how to crossbreed the fruits and vegetables they’re raising to create varieties that taste even better. They haven’t found anything close to coffee yet, but there are plenty of leaves and flowers they can make herb tea from. Durva analyzes the various mushrooms that grow around their settlement and finds out which ones are safe to eat and which ones are poisonous, and a dark, cool chamber in the wreck gets repurposed into a mushroom farm.

 

Ollyx’s little flock of birds has turned into _his_ full-time job--feeding them and picking up the yard eggs and cleaning the coops and carting the dirty straw and bird shit off to the compost dump and gathering up the fallen feathers and hunting for more wild eggs takes up most of his time these days.

 

For every wild deer-thing the hunters kill, they catch one alive and bring it back to the growing herd on the farm. The captive deer-things quickly learn that the farm offers them easy meals and safety from predators, and the fence around their pasture is more to keep them from wandering over to munch on the crops than to keep them from escaping.

 

They find animals that can be trained to pull a plow or carry a rider. They learn which bugs need to be kept out of the farms and which need to be welcomed in, and which predators can be tamed and trained to protect the herd and crops. They’ve found bee-like bugs and built apiaries, learned how to harvest the wax and honey.

 

They learn which plants and animals produce fiber they can spin and weave, and which plants and minerals they can use to dye it. Gradually, the crew members’ worn uniforms and the freed prisoners’ ragged clothes are replaced by handmade tunics and pants and skirts, in increasingly brightly colored and finely woven cloth as the spinners and weavers and tailors refine their skills. They learn how to work the leather they make from the deer-things’ hides too--not a moment too soon, because the freed prisoners’ flimsy shoes are falling apart, the crew members’ boots aren’t far behind, and their supply of alien duct tape is starting to run out. One of the leatherworkers surprises Adam with an eyepatch when he goes over to pick up his new boots and when she hands him a mirror he actually bursts out laughing--he looks like he could be on the way to the ren faire. Fancy leather eyepatch, hair almost to his shoulders, orange linen tunic with a leather belt and a brown vest over it, poofy brown pants and knee-high leather boots. All that’s missing is the shitty wallhanger sword and one of those little dragon puppet things on his shoulder.

 

They learn to build, to lay paths with flat stones, to pump water from underground. The farm sprouts barns for the deer-things and sheds for storage. The craftspeople start building workshops and moving their looms and workbenches out of the wreck. Some of the survivors start talking about building their own little homes. Cherrin’s wings are starting to grow in and when they’re strong enough for him to fly he wants to build a treehouse in the forest like his people did back home, when his home still existed.

 

It’s not perfect. It’s primitive and there’s a lot of hard work that has to be done every single day and going to the bathroom in the middle of the night now involves putting on shoes, grabbing a lantern, grabbing a weapon just in case, and hiking out to the one of the outhouses they’ve had to build because the wreck’s septic system finally died.

 

Nobody learns the harsh lesson of which plants are only edible once, at least there’s that. But people get hurt out here, and they poke critters they shouldn’t poke and pay for it, and they drink water from dubious sources and pay for it. And then the occasional cold-like sniffle or stomach bug starts going around, and with everyone living in the wreck if one of them catches it they’ll _all_ catch it sooner or later. Nothing serious so far, just stuff that makes the victims miserable and keeps Durva and their team busy for a few days.

 

Sometimes there are arguments, sometimes there are disagreements about how things should be done. Most of the time they work themselves out peacefully. Some have turned into screaming matches. A few have come to blows, and a few have ended with one party packing up a survival kit and leaving. But when someone leaves, no matter how heated the exchange that led to it, they always come back. They’re always welcomed back. And more often than not, they bring back the seeds of a new edible plant, or directions to a deposit of some useful metal or mineral, or some pretty rocks or some other interesting thing.

 

It’s not perfect, but it’s keeping them all alive until someone picks up their distress signal, and that’s all that matters.

 

* * *

 

When winter comes it’s milder than they all feared it would be but not as mild as they hoped. There are a few little snow flurries, and there are a couple of weeks of freezing temperatures here and there. But they have plenty of food, and they have a good store of seeds for spring and some of their crops continue to produce throughout the winter. Not the tastiest ones, unfortunately, and there are only so many ways to cook squash and beans. But the brineapples are still going berserk out there. If anything, they seem to be producing even more out of sheer spite so at least they’ve got plenty of salt for preserving meat and fish and stuff and making the squash and beans taste a little better.

 

The animals don’t seem to mind the cold, other than Ollyx’s birds, and they’re fine with huddling it out in their coops. The lake doesn’t even freeze over. A brittle crust at the very edge of the shore is all the ice they get. The wreck is a good shelter from the cold wind and occasional slushy rain, but the close quarters are starting to wear on the survivors’ patience a little.

 

When the weather starts to warm up again and new leaves start popping out on the trees, people start making good on that talk of moving out of the wreck. They don’t go far; the lake and the forest are about the extent of the spread of their little colony. But now there are little cabins and huts and yurts popping up all around, and new stone paths connecting them to each other and the wreck and the farm and other places of interest.

 

Adam hasn’t built a house yet, and he’s not really planning to. But there’s a little spot on the edge of the forest he’s grown kind of fond of. Nice breeze, nice view, fairly flat, a short walk from the wreck, an even shorter walk from the creek. Some big flat rocks to sit on. A bunch of those not-quite-sage plants growing in the sunny spots.

 

A town square of sorts appears near the wreck, and with it comes market days when everyone brings the things they make to trade for the things they don’t. A few of the survivors have cobbled together musical instruments from wood and metal and leather and whatever else they can find that makes a pleasant noise when beaten, plucked, or blown into and sometimes at night, some of them get together there and play.

 

There’s a clinic now, and a stable, and even a little pub that popped up after Mellari accidentally figured out that something wonderful happens when fruit rots under just the right conditions.

 

There’s still talk of “when a ship comes,” but by the second fall it’s just a thing people say, like “till the Kalteneckers come home--” whatever the hell a “Kaltenecker” is. Some of the survivors have stopped talking about rescue at all. Some of them have warmed up to the idea of staying here for good.

 

Adam hasn’t felt that shift yet, but he understands why some of the others might have. So many of them have nowhere else to go. Durva’s home planet is gone. So is Cherrin’s. Ollyx’s is still there, but left a wasteland by whatever the Galra did to it. Mellari doesn’t talk about where she came from or what happened there, but she was wearing the same clothes as the freed prisoners when they were on the rebel ship. Ixa and Edi can’t go home for a different reason. Their planet is fine and free but there’s some kind of draconian caste system there and the gulf between their classes is wide enough that their marriage would be a capital offense for one or both of them. Joining the rebels offered them a way out together.

 

For all of them, life on a fairly hospitable and otherwise uninhabited planet is a step up.

 

* * *

 

Adam goes over to Ixa’s hut one day to see if there are any odd jobs he can do in exchange for a few bars of the soap she makes now. But she’s been feeling pukey all morning, and Edi is a little concerned and he doesn’t want to leave her alone, so Adam calls Durva over to take a look.

 

They come back out with a look on their face Adam isn’t sure how to parse.

 

“Is she going to be okay?” he asks, and Durva waves a hand.

 

“Oh yeah. She’s gonna need some extra nutrients but I think I can make her something for that--oh. Here, Edi said to give you this.” They hand Adam a little cloth bag. “He said thanks for coming to get me.”

 

“Huh?” Adam peeks into the bag and finds three bars of soap inside. “Hey, cool.” Still... that’s strange. Nobody else seems to be nursing any kind of vitamin deficiency out here. “So do we need to catch more fish, or what?”

 

“Nah, nothing like that. Couldn’t hurt, but that’s not the problem.” Durva slaps Adam on the back. “She’s pregnant.”

 

It takes Adam a while to fully process those two words.

 

He walks back to the wreck in a daze, bag of soap in hand.

 

There are going to be children born on this planet soon. The first native-born children of this world.

 

He isn’t sure what to think about that.

 

But later, he picks up his quarterstaff and a survival kit and a hatchet and hikes out to that spot on the edge of the forest he’s grown so fond of.

 

He picks a leaf of not-quite-sage, sits down on one of those big flat stargazing rocks, sparks the firestarter and holds it to the edge of the leaf until it catches.

 

It doesn’t quite smell the same, but it’s close enough to clear his head.

 

Maybe someday someone will find them here. Maybe they won’t. Either way, sooner or later he’s going to have to move past this mindset of simple survival he’s been stuck in.

 

He needs to start _living_ again.

 

Adam sharpens some fallen branches into stakes and pounds them into the ground, marking out the corners of a foundation for his home.

 

* * *

 

By the third spring, everyone has moved out of the wreck.

 

Adam built his little log cabin in that spot on the edge of the forest. It’s got a metal roof salvaged from the wreck and a stone floor, with a nice fireplace and a little porch with hanging baskets of herbs and brineapples. There’s a big stump where he chops his firewood, and a kiln, and a little herb and vegetable garden, and a pen for his little herd of goat-things with a little shelter to keep them dry when it rains. He’s even got a porch swing to relax in when he’s done with his chores for the day.

 

He’s found something like sweetgrass to go with his not-quite sage, and every morning he sprinkles a bit of both of them on a hot coal from the fireplace or the kiln while he says his prayer to the four directions. The prayer he learned from his grandparents has gone through a few revisions to fit a new planet, and parts of it still don’t quite feel right, and he’s still not sure how much he really believes in any of this. But when he’s living this close to the land it feels right to at least go through the motions of paying respect to it. If nothing else, it’s a bit of daily ritual that brings him a little peace and comfort.

 

He says his prayer, he makes some tea and eats his breakfast, and then he pulls his hair back into a ponytail and takes his staff outside and runs through a series of drills with it. He’s only had to use it to defend himself once or twice out here. Even then he hasn’t actually had to hit anything with it, waving it around and yelling at whatever was threatening him or his goat-things was enough to get the point across. But practicing with it is good exercise and even better stress relief.

 

When he’s done with that, he takes a quick dip in the creek and then he gets to work on his daily chores.

 

Mostly, he makes cheese. Cheese, of all the damn things.

 

When Adam was a kid his weird hipster uncle with the farm where he raised weed and dairy goats showed him how to milk the goats and how to turn the milk into soft cheese. Now Adam is raising some of those goat-things and the milk they produce behaves enough like goat milk for his needs.

 

Sometimes he makes pottery--something he learned from his mom. Right now, the kiln, a bit of wire, and his hands are all the tools he has to work the clay with. He’d really like to see if he can bribe one of the more mechanically inclined survivors with enough cheese and dishes to build him a wheel, but this is fine for now.

 

Sometimes he makes jewelry--something he learned from his dad. When he’s done feeding and milking the goats and tending to the latest batch of cheese and putting whatever needs to go in the kiln in there, he heads into the woods with a basket to gather bones and seed pods and whatever else he can find that might look good carved into beads or pendants and strung on a cord.

 

All of his wares bring a decent haul on market day. He never thought any of these skill sets would put food on his table in his adult life but, well... here they are.

 

Ixa had her baby, and a few of the others had theirs. There are children in the settlement now. Not a lot of them but enough of them are being born or hatched or germinated that Adam wonders if it’s time to start thinking about setting up a school. He wouldn’t mind teaching again.

 

He still hikes up the hill and checks the distress beacon every few days. It’s still working, still sending out its tiny message on eternal repeat. Nobody’s heard it yet or if they have, they didn’t think it worth investigating. Checking it is more out of habit than anything now. A little change from the routine of daily chores and market days. A pleasant hike up the hill and back.

 

He still thinks about Earth, even if he’s given up on ever seeing it again. He wonders if it’s still there. If his family is okay. If Curtis is okay. If Keith and Takashi ever made it back. If Curtis kept his promise.

 

He hopes so. He hopes it worked out for them. He hopes they’re making each other happy.

 

But most of the time, he has more important things to worry about. Like tending his goats and digging up clay and figuring out how they’re going to educate the kids. Like getting his ass out of bed extra early in the morning on market days so he can trade his wares for the stuff he needs. Like chopping enough wood to feed the fireplace and the kiln for the next few days. Like slapping a fresh blob of evergreen pitch on the leaky spot in the roof after it rains. Like finishing up his daily chores before dark so he’ll have time to sit in his porch swing with a cup of tea and watch the moons rise. It took a long time, but he’s come to appreciate how beautiful the night sky is here.

 

This isn’t even close to the life he imagined for himself.

 

But it could have been worse.

 

It could have been _so much goddamn worse._

 

* * *

 

And then one night in the third summer, Adam gets rudely awakened by a frantic pounding on his door.

 

When he puts on his eyepatch and some pants and answers it, he sees Durva standing there looking flustered. “You need to come to the square right now,” they say before Adam can get so much as _hi_ out of his mouth. “A ship came.”

 

“What!? How the hell did I sleep through _that--”_ Adam throws on a shirt and pulls on his boots and ties his hair back into a messy ponytail. But there’s something in the way Durva said that, something in the look on their face, something that sets Adam’s nerves on edge. “Sounds like you’re not sure that’s good news.”

 

“I’m not.” Durva waves him out the door. “It’s a Galra ship. Little tiny one, but...”

 

 _“Shit.”_ Adam pauses to grab his quarterstaff by the strap and sling it over his shoulder, then he heads down the stone path with Durva close behind. He’s heard from the other survivors--there are Galra who _aren’t_ murderous purple assholes. There’s the Blade of Marmora, sure, and then there are just regular Galra joes who aren’t too keen on what their leaders are up to. A Galra ship, especially a small one, isn’t necessarily bad news. If whoever was flying that ship meant them harm, they’d all be dead or on a prison ship already. Still... Adam remembers what the Galra did to Earth, and what they did to so many of the people here, and what they did to _him,_ and he doesn’t blame anyone for being a little suspicious. “Are they Blades, or...?”

 

“They say they are, but... y’know. Anyone can say anything, right?” Durva goes on. “Some guy came out of the ship and went to the square and started talking. He says the war’s over, you believe that?”

 

Adam snorts out a wry laugh. “I want to.”

 

“You and me both. Anyway, he said they picked up our distress signal and they can help us if we need it. Funny thing, he’s dressed like a Galra but you ask me...” Durva does a thing with their hands that Adam has come to recognize as a shrug. “He looks more like a human person.”

 

“...what.”

 

“I know, right?” Durva is quiet for a few steps. “Frap, he might _be_ a human person. He said something about the signal the beacon’s sending out, how it’s human-people code or something. Asked if we got any human people here.”

 

So... guy dressed like a Galra... but looks human and knows human stuff? Huh. “Did you tell him about me?”

 

“Nope. Figured I better come get you just in case though. He’s got some Galra ladies with him. Great big wolfdogthing too. Nobody’s real sure what to make of it but it’s kinda freaking us out.”

 

“I feel that,” Adam says, and he and Durva walk on.

 

Sure enough, there’s a ship parked in the empty field out by town square. It’s a small one, just like Durva said. Shuttle-sized, just enough room to carry a crew of maybe five and a few days’ worth of supplies, plus some cargo. Adam could believe they’ve got some emergency rations and medical supplies and maybe some comm equipment on board.

 

And he hears someone talking down in the square, just like Durva said, offering help if they want it.

 

But it’s not the words that grab Adam’s attention.

 

It’s the voice.

 

_Adam knows that voice._

 

He breaks into a jog and reaches the edge of the crowd, and the guy goes on--

 

“If any of you want to leave, we can arrange that. Our ship’s too small to take more than a few of you at a time but there’s a big Coalition ship that’ll be passing near this sector in a few quintants--”

 

Oh God. Could it really be...

 

Nobody says anything to the offer of transportation and Adam doesn’t blame them, they don’t know what he knows, but he doesn’t care. He shoves his way to the front of the crowd as politely as he possibly can, trying to get a better look at the guy.

 

For a hot microtick he thinks he’s gotten it wrong, thinks his ears and the torchlight and his single stupid nearsighted eye played a mean trick on him, but then the speaker turns so Adam can get a really good look at his face and--it is. It _is!_ He looks different--God, he looks so different, he’s got a scar and a ponytail and he looks so much _older_ but it’s him, it’s really him, it’s really--

 

_“Keith!”_

 

Keith stops in mid-sentence and blinks a few times, like he has no idea why the hell this weird one-eyed castaway is yelling at him. And then his eyes go wide and his jaw drops. He looks like he’s seen a ghost and Adam can’t blame him a bit.

 

“Holy shit,” Keith breathes. _“Adam!?_ Holy shit! What--here?-- _how!?”_

 

The big Galra lady with the fluffy pink ears puts a casual hand on her sidearm and the other two eye Adam suspiciously as he drops his staff and rushes the platform and throws his arms around Keith, but they relax when Keith busts out laughing and hugs him back. The wolfdogthing just watches the whole spectacle like it’s no big deal. “I don’t--I--you-- _what the fuck, Adam!”_

 

“It’s okay!” Adam calls to the crowd as he claps Keith on the back. “You can trust him! I know him! He’s--he’s family!”

 

And just like that, the whole atmosphere shifts. It’s like those words pull a cork out of the crowd to let the tension flow out of it. Adam can feel them relax, and then as it starts to sink in that the ones among them who have somewhere to go can finally go there he hears cheers and whoops in the crowd.

 

And then he remembers--does _he_ have somewhere to go?

 

Adam holds Keith at arm’s length and looks him right in the eyes. _“Earth,”_ he pleads through his clenched teeth, “is Earth still--”

 

Keith pats him on the shoulders. “It’s fine. They’re okay. Your parents, Shiro, Curtis--they’re all okay. The war’s over. You can go home.”

 

Adam doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just throws his arms around Keith again.

 

The war is over.

 

He can go home.

 

_They’re okay._

 

“Come on.” Keith rubs his back. “Hey, Acxa? Can you get a headcount of everyone that wants to leave? Zethrid, Ezor, ask around and see what kind of equipment the ones that want to stay need, go ahead and unload it if we’ve got it, get me a wishlist if we don’t. Hey. Adam. C’mon. Let’s go somewhere and talk. I missed you.”

 

* * *

 

Keith’s Galra lady friends hang back in the square to get a guesstimate of how many people want to leave and what those who decide to remain are going to need, and Adam can’t help but laugh as people start bringing out their wares and setting up shop while they’re doing that. Keith straight up told them the help they’re offering is free, no strings attached, but the merchants sense opportunity in the air anyway and they’re not wrong. As Adam leads Keith off towards his house, he looks over his shoulder to see the little red one with the ...tentacle? on her head holding a dress up to her shoulders and the big one nodding her approval, and the blue one sniffing bars of Ixa’s new fancy scented soap.

 

“Sorry,” Adam says as he lets Keith in and lights the lanterns. “If I’d known company was coming I would have cleaned the place up. Your dog can come in, it’s fine.”

 

“Wow, this is... this is nice,” Keith says, letting his wolfdogthing in and shutting the door behind them. “You built this yourself?”

 

“Well, I had some help.” Adam props the window shutters open to let the breeze in, and the goats mistake activity and light for morning feeding time and start bleating. “Nobody’s talking to you! Go back to sleep!” he calls out the window. The goats do not go back to sleep. “Sorry. They do that. What are you doing all the way out here, anyway?”

 

“W-well, we picked up your distress signal and--”

 

“No, no, back up! How’d you end up running around in space in a Galra ship with a bunch of Galra ladies and a-a space dog--does he have a name?”

 

“Kosmo. His name’s--” Keith shakes his head. “Forget about me! What happened to _you?_ They told me you got shot down! How the hell did you end up all the way out--do you have _any_ idea how far from Earth you are!?”

 

“No, and I don’t think I want to know.” It’s been too warm for soup or stew or anything like that so the pot is empty. But yesterday was a market day, so Adam has a fresh loaf of bread and some salami-like cured meat and some fruit and vegetables--and, of course, plenty of goat cheese. “The Galra caught my fighter and threw me in a cell, then the ship I was on went ...who the fuck even knows where, then the rebels broke us out and took us back to _their_ ship, then the navigator screwed up and took us through the wrong part of an asteroid belt and the pilot got knocked out, then I took over the stick and a trainee took over the nav console and we crash-landed on Gilligan’s Planet here with a totaled ship--you know, the one out by town square with the missing engine--and a broken comm kit and we’ve all been here ever since. That’s about it. You hungry?”

 

“Holy shit, Adam. That’s--” Keith gets a good look at the food Adam is pulling out of the breadbox and the cooler pit and his eyes glaze over a little. “Oh. Oh hell yes, I haven’t had real food in _weeks._ ” He sits down on a cot Adam salvaged from the wreck and uses for a couch. Kosmo plops down on the floor next to his feet and watches with great interest as Adam sets the meat on the counter. “I mean, we’ve got a food goo dispenser on the ship and Ezor brings a lot of snacks and crap but--”

 

“Ezor is... the big one? Or--”

 

“The little red one. Zethrid’s the big one. Acxa’s the blue one that looks maybe kinda part human. Uh, shit, maybe I should--I hate to ask but do you have enough food for them too, or--”

 

“Don’t even worry about that, I guarantee they’re getting fed. We’ve never had visitors so everyone’s excited. You saw them dragging out the market carts.” Adam pours two mugs of cold tea and hands one to Keith. He slices up some bread and smears cheese on it. “So again...” He chops up some fruit and vegetables, carves off some meat, and starts piling food on a pair of wooden plates. “How the fuck did you end up running around space with three Galra ladies and a space dog?” He tosses a bit of meat on the floor and watches Kosmo snap it up.

 

“It’s a really long and really wild story,” Keith sighs.

 

Adam shrugs and hands Keith a plate. “We got time, right?”

 

Keith catches Adam up on what happened out there in the rest of the universe while they eat. First things first: Earth is okay. Things were pretty ugly for a while but it’s better now.

 

He apologizes profusely for not telling Adam Takashi had crash-landed back on Earth. Adam waves it off. Probably just as well, because then they found the Blue Lion out in the desert and got themselves _and_ Takashi flung out into space the next day. Plot twist--Keith was not the one who took Takashi and several missing cadets out on a joyride in it. One of the missing cadets was the pilot. Veronica’s brother.

 

Which ...actually sounds about right, going from what Adam remembers of that kid. Keith assures him that Lance has gotten his shit together since then.

 

A lot of stuff happened after that--castle, four more robot lions, alien princess, ten thousand year old space war, yadda yadda. Keith pauses at one point and shoots Adam a kind of embarrassed glance. “Did, uh... did Sam tell you I, uh... found my mom?”

 

“No.” There is something weird hanging off the end of that question. “You found your mom... in space?”

 

“Yeah.” Keith shrugs. “So... you didn’t know I’m half Galra either.”

 

“You’re.” _Adam.exe has stopped working._ “You’re what now?”

 

“You heard me.”

 

“I, uh.” Adam clears his throat while his brain reboots. Okay. Yeah. That... that actually explains a lot. “Well, I do now.”

 

Keith just stares at him. “And...?”

 

“And... what?”

 

“You’re okay with that?”

 

“You’re still you, right?” Adam shrugs. “You’re still my kiddo.”

 

Keith opens his mouth to say something about that. Nothing comes out for a while. “I... I still owe you an apology,” he finally says.

 

“No you don’t.” Adam scoots over and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “You don’t owe me _shit._ Okay? I’m just really proud of you and I’m really happy to see you.” Keith sniffles a little, and Kosmo looks up with mild concern, but Adam figures Keith probably doesn’t want to make any bigger of a deal out of this than they already have, so he pats Keith on the shoulder and lets him go. “So... then what happened?”

 

Keith actually laughs a little. “Buckle up, this is going to get crazy.”

 

“It’s already crazy! How the hell can it get any crazier?”

 

Adam immediately regrets asking that question. Keith starts in on some alien magic stuff and time warp bullshit and Adam can feel his last two brain cells giving each other the hairy side-eye and he knows right then that there’s going to come a point where he’s going to have to tap out of this conversation.

 

And then they got back to Earth and... ugh.

 

Sanda.

 

Fucking _Sanda._

 

God, why is Adam not surprised to hear that she sold them out?

 

She reaped what she sowed, at least. Adam has never in his life celebrated the death of any human being, but there are some he sure as hell won’t mourn and _Ellen Fucking Sanda_ is one of them.

 

As for Takashi... Adam asks what _he_ was up to all that time and immediately regrets that, too.

 

Apparently--among other things--Takashi _literally fucking died,_ got his consciousness preserved in the Black Lion and then plugged into the dead body of an evil clone of himself, got into a fistfight with Sendak, figured out that he could turn the _Atlas_ into a giant robot, and then, _then_ he won an arm-wrestling tournament at some kind of alien carnival because of course he did.

 

And then things got _really_ wild.

 

Adam doesn’t understand half of what Keith is telling him at this point, there’s something about an “entity” and some kind of astral plane bullshit and something about freeing the trapped souls of the original Paladins and Adam just holds up a hand when Keith gets to the part about the crazy alien lady with godlike powers unraveling the fabric of all of space-time looking for an alternate reality where she could have a house, yard, and white picket fence with her dead husband (who somehow happened to be both the original Black Paladin _and_ the Evil Emperor guy) and son (who used to be the boss of Keith’s Galra lady friends) because all of that is just _way_ more than those last two brain cells can handle tonight.

 

He’s almost afraid to ask what Takashi is up to now that all of _that_ is over, but he does anyway.

 

“Oh.” Keith laughs a little at that. “He’s doing great. He went back to teaching last year, had to get into this big pissing contest with Command about it, they were all--” His voice rises half an octave, mockingly. “‘But you’re so _young,_ why don’t you want to command the _Atlas_ anymore’ and he was like--” His voice drops to an eerily spot-on impression of Takashi’s. “‘Do you want a list, get comfortable, maybe go to the bathroom first, this might take a while _’_ and by the time he got to ‘literally fucking died’ and I’m pretty sure he actually said ‘literally fucking died’ to them... well... long story short, he’s teaching again.”

 

Adam snorts into his tea mug. “He still thinks you learned that word from me, doesn’t he?”

 

Keith just holds up his hands. “Not gonna open that can of worms again. Anyway, we’re all kinda taking bets on how much longer it’ll be before he gets bored on Earth and starts trying to get back on the _Atlas_ , and he gets kinda lonely when he’s at home and... and, uh...” He trails off there. “Adam... Shiro told me about the video.”

 

Adam feels his heart skip a few beats. “Did it work?” If Takashi knows about the video, then Curtis must have showed it to him, but... “Please tell me it worked.”

 

Keith doesn’t answer that. Not out loud, anyway. He just smiles and reaches into a pouch on his belt, takes out something that looks like a phone, taps a few things on the screen, and hands it to Adam.

 

It worked.

 

Oh thank God, _it worked._

 

He has questions--what happened to Takashi’s hair? No, wait, what happened to Takashi’s arm? No, forget all that--who the exact fuck invited Takashi’s shitty parents to his wedding and did they actually get through the whole thing without showing their asses even once?

 

But mostly, he sees how _happy_ Takashi and Curtis both look, and he can’t help but laugh when he gets to the picture of them feeding each other the cake. They didn’t smash it into each others’ faces, but the little dot of icing on the tip of Takashi’s nose suggests that Curtis may have sort of booped him a little and the impish little grin on Curtis’ face suggests that it wasn’t an accident.

 

When was the last time he saw Takashi smile like that? Before he got sick? Had to be. “How long have they been married?”

 

“Just had their first anniversary. Before that, uh...” Keith thinks about it a bit, does some quick calculations. “I’m not sure exactly when they started, um... dating, but... would have been during the war? They kinda kept it quiet until all that was over--captain, bridge crew, y’know.” He’s quiet for a while, watching Adam go through the wedding pictures.

 

“So, uh...” Keith clears his throat. “That big ship I was telling everyone about? It’s the _Atlas._ ”

 

The _Atlas._ Keith is going to call the _Atlas_ to come pick them up. “And Curtis is--he was going to be on the bridge crew, is he still--”

 

“Yeah. He’s still there. You want me to call them? If he’s on duty you can probably talk to him for a minute.”

 

Adam knows he should be thrilled about this, but... “I--I’m not sure I‘m ready for that,” he says, and Keith nods.

 

“Okay. Probably best if we show him in person anyway--” He stops and gives Adam a weird look. “Or do you... not want to see him?”

 

“No--I _do,_ I just--” He gestures at his leather eyepatch and shrugs. “I’m... not sure he’s going to want to see _me.”_

 

Keith just raises an eyebrow.

 

“I’m sorry, did you not see Shiro’s arm?” Keith takes his phone back and rolls his eyes. “He’s not going to give a shit, Adam. He’s just going to be happy you’re okay. He missed you. They _both_ missed you.”

 

“Really?” Something about that makes Adam feel warm and fuzzy inside, and at the same time makes him a little nervous about dropping back into their lives again.

 

“Trust me.” Keith pats him on the shoulder. “When you go over to their house, you’ll see.”

 

Adam doesn’t know what to say to that. “Are you, uh... are you going to stick around till they show up, or do you need to take off?”

 

“We can stay,” Keith says. “Nothing super urgent going on right now, we were actually about to head back to Daibazaal when we caught your signal.”

 

“Okay. Cool. I, uh... like I said, we’ve never had visitors so there’s not an inn or anything but... I’ve got some extra blankets and pillows and stuff if you want to take the cot?”

 

Keith thinks about that for a bit. “Yeah,” he says, “that actually... we usually just sleep on the ship but I’d like that.” He shakes his head and gets up, and Kosmo stands up with him. “I need to go get my bag and let my crew know where I’ll be, be right back.”

 

“Do you need a lantern?” Adam asks, and he feels kind of silly considering Keith is in fact a grown ass man and can certainly take care of himself out there but even after all this time, after all the time they’ve been apart, after everything that happened between them he just can’t help slipping back into Kind Of Adopted Dad mode. “Can you find your way back to the--”

 

Keith shoots him a grin. “I got it.” He opens the door. He and Kosmo step outside, and he reaches down and takes gentle hold of a handful of Kosmo’s bountiful floof. “Back to the ship,” he says, and--

 

Adam is in no way, shape, or form prepared for what happens next. One second Keith and Kosmo are standing on the path in front of his house and the next--there’s a flash, and they’re gone.

 

 _What the hell and/or fuck just happened here!?_ Adam thinks, staring down the path towards the square. Should he... should he go after them? He’s not worried about Keith running into any dangerous animals, not with that big-ass space wolf by his side, but--what the _fuck!?_

 

He stands there for a while, not really sure what to do. And then there’s another flash, and when it fades, Keith and Kosmo are back and Keith is in a T-shirt and pajama pants and sneakers and he has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a shit-eating grin on his face.

 

“Oh,” he says when he sees the way Adam is staring at them, “did I forget to tell you he does that?”

 

“You forgot to tell me he does that,” Adam replies, not really sure how he’s making coherent words come out of his mouth while his jaw is on the ground.

 

* * *

 

Keith’s Galra lady friends did indeed get thoroughly wined and dined and had enough gifts dropped into their laps that there is some mild concern about cargo space on their ship, and there were a few good-natured arguments over who got to host them for the night. Acxa is staying with Mellari, and Zethrid and Ezor are staying at Ixa and Edi’s house just because it’s the biggest now that they’ve added Aby’s room on.

 

While he was back at the ship, Keith says, he figured he might as well go ahead and call the _Atlas._ And that’s probably just as well. Adam isn’t sure he could have handled hearing any familiar voice right now, but especially Curtis.

 

Curtis was off duty when he called, Keith says, and that might be just as well too.

 

Keith is out as soon as his head hits the pillow, and Kosmo curls up on the floor next to the cot.

 

Adam doesn’t sleep. He lies in his bed listening to Keith’s slow even breathing and the occasional puffs and snuffles Kosmo makes while he’s chasing space squirrels or whatever in his sleep. He’s afraid to close his eyes, afraid that if he does he’ll open them in the morning to find that none of this actually happened.

 

* * *

 

He must have closed them a little too long at some point, because when he opens them again there’s soft gray light coming in the windows and the goats are demanding breakfast and Keith is sitting on the edge of the cot looking half-asleep and bewildered.

 

“Do they always do this?” Keith asks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Make that much noise this early?” Even Kosmo looks a little annoyed, like he might be wondering what goat-things taste like.

 

“Nah.” Adam gets up and rakes up the hot coals in the fireplace, adds some wood, and puts the tea kettle on. “They usually start it earlier.”

 

* * *

 

“You sure you want to stay?” Adam asks Durva two days later while those who decided to leave are waiting for the _Atlas_ , and Durva just does that shrugging thing with their hands.

 

“I got nowhere else to go,” they say. Neither do most of the survivors-turned-settlers. Ixa and her family, Mellari, Cherrin, Ollyx, and so many more of them--their homeworlds are gone, or too full of painful memories to return to, or else this world has just given them a fresh start they’d never be able to find anywhere else. “And they need a doctor here. Gonna miss you. And your cheese.”

 

“I showed Ollyx how to make it and he’s taking the goats, don’t worry. And hey, we’re leaving you a comm kit. Call me sometime.” Adam puts out his hand. “You’re going to have to come up with a name for this place, you know that.”

 

“Eeh.” Durva takes Adam’s offered hand and pulls him in for a big hug instead. “We’ll get around to it someday.”

 

There’s a low rumble in the atmosphere then--the sound of engines like nothing Adam has ever heard before. He’d seen technical drawings of the _Atlas,_ even got to see it in the early stages of its construction, but he never got to see it complete, never got to see it fly and watching it descend into view is awe-inspiring, to say the least.

 

 _Giant robot!?_ he thinks as a few shuttles break from it and land in the big empty field outside the town, next to Keith’s ship.

 

“Well, there’s my ride,” he says, trying to sound casual. “Thanks for everything, Durva. You take care.”

 

Durva claps him on the back one more time and lets him go. “You too, Adam,” they say. “Come visit if you’re ever in the neighborhood again.”

 

Adam wouldn’t mind that. As places to be shipwrecked go, this one wasn’t so bad.

 

Adam and a group of survivors follow an officer onto a shuttle, and he flops into a seat and shoves his bag under it. He’s not bringing much with him. A couple sets of extra clothes. Some brineapple seeds and those of some other interesting fruits and veggies; apparently the _Atlas_ grows a lot of its own food and these might be a welcome addition to the menu. A mug for his mom and a little leather pouch decorated with bone and clay beads and filled with pretty pebbles and animal teeth and stuff like that for his dad. He thought about bringing something along for Curtis and Takashi too, but then decided it might be... inappropriate, somehow.

 

He shouldn’t be nervous about seeing Curtis again. He shouldn’t be nervous about seeing Takashi again.

 

So why is he?

 

* * *

 

None of the technical drawings or 3D models or VR tours Adam got to see before he ... _left_ even came close to preparing him for how huge the _Atlas_ really is.

 

He and the rest of the departing survivors enter through a shuttle bay that’s bigger than the whole damn rebel ship they crashed here in, where they get checked in and asked where they’re going. From there, an officer leads them through a labyrinth of corridors and lifts to medbay so they can all get checked out. It’s bright in here, and it’s noisy, and there are so many people and it smells weird and after the quiet and calm of the settlement Adam finds it all a little overwhelming. He still wants/doesn’t want/really wants to see Curtis but he also kind of just wants to be shown to a cabin so he can turn the lights off and get away from all this noise. But Keith is here, at least--his ship is in _another_ massive shuttle bay, apparently, and his Galra lady friends seem to be pretty well-known around here so they can go off and do whatever it is they do and Keith can hang out with Adam to take at least a little bit of the stress out of this process for him.

 

The doctors keep expressing surprise at how _healthy_ they all seem to be. Other than any permanent effects of whatever the Galra did to them on that prison ship, of course. And why wouldn’t they be? They had a doctor, they had plenty of food and water, they had plenty of people around who knew their shit when it came to living off the land. Of course they were fine.

 

Mostly fine, anyway.

 

Adam’s good eye is... well, “good eye” is a relative term, after all. And it’s gotten worse. And they want to fix it for him. With...

 

...with _lasers._

 

He is _not_ doing this. No. Hell no. _Hell. Fucking. No._

 

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Medical. It’s not even that they didn’t offer to fix his eyes when he was accepted into the academy--they did offer, a number of times. The fact is, the idea of pretty much anything in his eyes that wasn’t there when he was born squicks him out and the mere thought of having actual for-real _lasers_ fired at his tender eyeballs terrifies the absolute shit out of him. It freaks him out even more now that he only has one eye left. And it really doesn’t help that Keith won’t back him up on this.

 

 _“I don’t want the damn eye lasers!”_ Adam snaps.

 

“Oh, come on!” Keith snaps back. “Don’t be a baby! You only have one left, let them fix it so you can--”

 

“Exactly! I only have one left and I can’t afford to fuck it up--”

 

“It’ll take five minutes,” the doctor cajoles.

 

“It’s not that bad,” Keith says. “You just--”

 

“And when did _you_ have it done?”

 

“W-well--” Keith looks at him, and at the doctor, and shrugs. “Matt did? You want to call him and ask, or--”

 

“You just look at a little red light for a minute,” the doctor goes on. “And you’ll feel a little pressure, and that’s it.”

 

“What if you miss?”

 

“Well, we--” The doctor shoots Keith a look, and Keith shrugs again-- _why are you looking at me!? You’re the doctor,_ that shrug says. “It’s totally painless, it’ll only take--”

 

And then Adam hears something outside the door that makes him instantly forget what they’re talking about.

 

He hears someone say _he’s right in here, Commander Shirogane._

 

Adam feels time come to a standstill. He can’t talk. He can’t even breathe. It’s all he can do to reach out on autopilot, grab his eyepatch, and throw it back on before the door opens.

 

That’s an officer’s uniform Adam has never seen, orange and white with black pants. Three gold stripes on each shoulder. One gold ring on his left hand. And  he’s still tall and handsome and he still has the most beautiful blue eyes Adam ever saw in his whole life.

 

 _This isn’t real,_ Adam thinks. His mouth won’t work but his mind is running a hundred miles an hour and all he can think is, _this isn’t real. This can’t be real. Any minute now I’m going to wake up back in my log cabin with the goats yelling for breakfast--_

 

“Adam!?” Curtis squeaks, and that breaks whatever weird time freeze is hanging between them.

 

Adam isn’t sure who moves first but they meet in the middle, arms tight around each other, and Adam squeezes his eye shut and buries his face in Curtis’ shoulder and hangs on like his existence depends on it.

 

He smells different. That’s not the same cedar-and-sandalwood aftershave he used to wear but even if it doesn’t smell the same it _feels_ the same, warm and woodsy and comforting. And he still gives amazing hugs.

 

Curtis doesn’t say a word about his scars, or his eyepatch, or anything. He just holds Adam tight and rubs his back and just for a moment, it’s like he never left. For the first time since the invasion, Adam really believes that everything is going to be okay.

 

Well... he believes it until Curtis sniffles, anyway.

 

“Oh shit,” Adam whimpers, bracing for the inevitable. “Oh no. Don’t cry. Curtis, sweetheart, _please_ don’t cry, I’m begging you--”

 

But it’s already too late, and all Adam can do about it is hold on and cry right along with him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So...” Veronica makes a face. It’s the face she makes when she wants to be blunt as hell about something but at least wants to put forth the appearance of sugar-coating it. “Are we going to talk about the elephant in the room, or nah?”
> 
> “What elephant in the room?”
> 
> “You know... you and Shiro?” Blunt-as-Hell-Yet-Lightly-Sugar-Coated Face intensifies, and Curtis finds himself involuntarily backing up half a step. “This isn’t going to make stuff ...weird, is it?”
> 
> Oh. 
> 
> “No! Of course not!” Curtis shakes his head. “We’ve already talked about that. We’re okay. It’s not going to make stuff weird. Everyone’s okay.”

On most mornings like this one, the alarm clock would have gone off about three hours ago. 

 

Curtis would have popped out of bed first and gone off to start the coffee, and Takashi would have rolled out of bed after him. They would have had their coffee and put on their gym clothes and grabbed their bags and uniforms and then they would have both been out the door by a quarter of six. They would have been at the gym by maybe five or ten after, depending on traffic. They would have been on their treadmills five-ish minutes after that; then around a quarter after seven they might have been in the weight room with Takashi maybe being a bit of an overprotective spotter for Curtis, or they might have been on their yoga mats with Curtis patiently offering Takashi the occasional foam block or alternative pose or steady shoulder. Then they would have finished up, showered, changed into their uniforms, and stopped at that little diner just outside the gate for a quick breakfast. And then at a quarter till nine, they would have gone their separate ways for the day. 

 

They do this almost every day. Both of their lives have been chaotic enough, and settling back into a consistent weekday morning routine has helped them both. 

 

But not today. Not on a launch day. Today, they’re still both curled up together in bed with Takashi’s head on Curtis’ shoulder and Curtis running his fingers through Takashi’s hair. It’ll be the last time they get to wake up together until Curtis comes home--about two weeks this time, give or take a few days.

 

“Some kind of diplomatic thing, right?” Takashi asks, soft and drowsy.

 

Curtis lets that majestic white floof slip through his fingers and fall back onto Takashi’s forehead. “Yeah. In the Aia system, I think.” He brushes it back again and kisses Takashi’s forehead, and Takashi purrs into his shoulder. “It shouldn’t take too long, everyone involved is already on pretty good terms, it’s pretty much just for show. If we wrap up ahead of schedule we might go by the Space Mall on the way back. You want me to bring you anything?”

 

“Mm. Surprise me.” 

 

“‘Kay.” 

 

Curtis combs his fingers through Takashi’s hair and lets it fall back onto his forehead again, relishing the way the little sunbeam sneaking between the curtains makes it sparkle. He traces his fingertips down Takashi’s spine and smiles at the noise he makes. 

 

“Gonna miss you,” Takashi murmurs into his shoulder.

 

“Gonna miss you too,” Curtis whispers back, into the top of Takashi’s head. “I love you so much.”

 

Takashi makes a little playful noise and looks up, eyes full of mischief. “How much?”

 

It’s early. They’re not taking off until late that afternoon. Curtis packed his bag last night and Takashi always takes launch days off, so there’s no need to rush. They’ve got plenty of time.

 

Still not nearly enough time for Curtis to show him _exactly_ how much, but that doesn’t keep him from trying.

 

* * *

 

When Curtis gets out of the shower, he finds Takashi in the kitchen putting on coffee and pulling stuff out of the fridge. He doesn’t start anything cooking, though. Takashi can usually be trusted to scramble eggs and fry up sausage without setting off the smoke alarm now, but Curtis likes to make them breakfast on launch days. One last fresh hot home-cooked meal before he goes.

 

So while Takashi is getting the stuff out that he wants, Curtis wanders into the living room and as he often does--as they _both_ often do--he takes a moment to look over all those pictures they’ve hung up on either side of the fireplace. Pictures of the two of them together, and with their families, and with Adam. 

 

And then there’s that one on the mantel. The one from the Grand Canyon, with all three of them. The one with Adam in the middle, pulling them all in together. The one with a memory card in a little plastic case marked _contingency plan_ in Adam’s handwriting taped to the back of the frame.

 

Takashi gently waves a mug under Curtis’ nose. “Your coffee-flavored milk and sugar, sir.”

 

“Don’t you start that,” Curtis laughs as he accepts the mug. He takes a long sip--Takashi might make fun of the way he likes it, but he still fixes it up just right. 

 

Takashi wraps both arms around his waist from behind and kisses the back of his shoulder. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah. Just...” Curtis gestures with the mug, in the direction of that picture on the mantel. “Y’know.”

 

“I know.” 

 

Of course he does. That’s one of the things they have in common, after all. They both have an Adam-shaped hole in their lives that’s still sore around the edges, even after all this time. “Have you called his parents lately?” 

 

Takashi shakes his head. “I was going to call Judy sometime this week, I need some 3D printer advice from someone who knows what the hell they’re talking about.”

 

“Oof.” Just when he finally got it going... “Is it still doing the thing?”

 

Takashi snorts out a little laugh. “No, I got it to stop doing _that_ thing, now it’s doing an even worse thing. It’ll be worth it when I get it running, though. A lot more fun than the kits.” The kits being, the model cars and airplanes and spaceships Takashi took up building in his spare time. He builds the models, Curtis builds little dioramas to park them on, and now the models and their habitats that aren’t getting gifted to friends and family are slowly but surely taking over the big bookcase in the living room. And then Takashi got a wild hair to try printing his own models and parts thereof, so Curtis got him a 3D printer for their anniversary. He’s had limited success with it so far, but at least it’s a good reason to stay in touch with Adam’s mom _._ “Ah well. I’ll tell her you said hi. Hey... maybe we should see about going up for a week this summer.”

 

“I’d like that.” They haven’t been up to visit Adam’s parents in a while, and it’s not like they don’t keep in touch, but Curtis still kind of feels bad about not getting up there to visit as often as he should. “C’mon,” he says, and gives Takashi’s hand a little pat. “Lemme go so I can feed you.”

 

* * *

 

They always try to stretch those last few hours out as long as they can. They’ve tried spending the whole day in bed. They’ve tried spending the day out, catching an early matinee and a late lunch. Nothing ever makes the time go by slow enough, so they settle for spending every second together that they possibly can, right up until Curtis absolutely has to be on board the _Atlas_ and ready to launch.

 

They always get a few funny looks and a few giggles while Curtis gives Takashi his customary pre-deployment snuggling and freezer meal briefing in the boarding bay, but they don’t care.

 

“Okay. You know the drill. If it doesn’t have instructions on it, you just--”

 

“Dump it in the crock pot and turn it on low before I leave in the morning. If it _does_ have instructions on it, do exactly what they say. Empanadas go in the convection oven at three-fifty for twenty-five minutes unless it’s the last _cajeta_ one in which case I keep my filthy paws off it--”

 

“Hey!” Curtis bursts out laughing and gives Takashi a squeeze. “I never said that!”

 

“No, _I_ said that. Those are your favorite. I’m gonna leave one for you.” Takashi laughs and drops his forehead onto Curtis’ shoulder. “And the deep fryer is still off limits. I’ve got this, baby.”

 

“I know.” And Curtis does know. Of course he does. They do this every time. It’s one of their things. He buries his face in the slope of Takashi’s neck and shuts his eyes, breathes in the scent of his aftershave like he’s trying to take it with him. “I love you.”

 

“Love you too.” Takashi wraps both arms tight around his waist and snuggles in close. “Stay safe.”

 

“I will.” And that much, at least, Curtis can promise. There are very few active threats still out there, and the few troublemakers they still run across are generally smart enough to not try and throw hands with the _Atlas._

 

Still, this never gets any easier. No matter how many times he leaves like this, it never gets any easier and it never will.

 

But Takashi knows what that announcement coming over the PA means, and he knows this isn’t the time or place to challenge Iverson to a duel or anything, so he lets Curtis go and hands him his bag. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says.

 

“‘Kay.” There’s just enough time for one more kiss, and Curtis doesn’t pass up the chance. “I’ll let you know soon as I know when we’re getting back.”

 

Takashi won’t go home until the _Atlas_ is out of sight, and Curtis tries not to look back as he heads for the walkway _._ He always tries not to look back, because he knows that’s just going to make it sting even more. He always looks back anyway.

 

All right. Two weeks. Easy diplomatic mission, trip to the Space Mall, and whatever else happens between there and home that they can handle.

 

They’re going to be okay. They always are.

 

That still doesn’t make leaving any easier.

 

* * *

 

Curtis jerks awake that night, heart hammering in his chest, cold sweat plastering his hair to his forehead and his T-shirt to his back. Out of instinct he feels around to his right, searching for Takashi in the dark, and then the low ambient hum and the empty air beyond the edge of the single bed remind him where he is and that he’s alone.

 

The first night out is always the hardest, but especially when _this_ happens.

 

He flops back onto the bed and shoves his hair out of his face and tries to gently bring his focus back to the present. It’s never easy, but it’s even harder without Takashi next to him.

 

He doesn’t have the nightmares nearly as often as he used to. When he does, it’s a lot easier to wake himself up before they get to the worst parts. This time, he managed it. But his waking mind is all too willing to fill in the blanks if he lets it, and lying here alone in the dark staring at the ceiling gives it far too much leeway to do just that.

 

He checks the time--0414. Less than an hour before his alarm is set to go off. No real point in trying to go back to sleep now anyway, so instead he picks up his phone and tabs over to his stash of little relaxing games and stuff to see if anything will help. Sometimes things that don’t require him to think too much work fine, but nightmares call for something a little more engaging than feeding cats or watering succulents. 

 

On second thought, forget the games. He flips back to one of his language apps instead. There’s been a deluge of new ones, and new options added to existing ones, to reflect all the new-to-humans extraterrestrial languages out there. The translator nanites are good enough for most people most of the time, but they have a pretty significant weak spot: written language. The Alteans are working on that. For now, there’s Xenolingo.

 

Oh, here’s a good one. Xikhani Vareen. Four different writing systems. Masculine, feminine, and neutral gendered nouns. Five forms of address ranging in formality from “speaking to royalty” to “speaking to your best friend” to “speaking to someone you want to fight.” A misspelled word and a couple of misplaced diacritics turn “your mother is forty decaphoebs old” into “your mother eats forty dicks every night.” 

 

_Perfect._

 

He’s glad Takashi decided to step back from the spacefaring work for a year or two. The break has been good for him, Curtis can see that much. He still has nightmares sometimes, still has flashbacks and panic attacks sometimes. But he’s so much more like his old self now, the way he was before Kerberos, before he got sick. So in the long run, he’s glad Takashi is taking that break. The poor man has been through hell and he deserves a little rest. And it’s not like they don’t talk while Curtis is out here. They do, almost every night. 

 

Still, it’s hard waking up alone. Especially on the nights when Curtis’ brain decides to replay the day they lost the Kerberos crew. Or the day of the invasion. Or any of the horrible things that happened after that. Or decides to piece together reenactments of things he didn’t see or hear for himself. Like the way his brother died, or what happened to Takashi on that prison ship, or--

 

Curtis shuts his eyes and shakes his head to clear it. It’s not doing him any good to lie here and freak himself out about the terrible things his brain occasionally processes while he’s sleeping. So he goes back to his language lesson and does his best to remember where the accents go and which script to use when and what form of address to use (and, more importantly, _not_ use) until his alarm goes off

 

* * *

 

The _Atlas_ reaches its destination a few days later, a planet in the Aia system covered in a deep blue ocean with a network of little islands scattered across it. In the past, there’s been some ill will between the land-dwellers and the sea-dwellers, even all-out war at times. But seeing what’s happened out in the wider universe in the last few years has given them both a bit of perspective and gotten them talking to each other like adults, and now they want to make a public statement of peace and solidarity between them.

 

It goes well. Hunk takes off his engineer hat and puts on his chef hat and he and Shay and Sal and the rest of the galley crew do what they do. There’s a symbolic exchange of plants, land for water. Everyone smiles and shakes hands and fins and tentacles for the cameras and reporters. 

 

And that’s it. A few short hours after they arrive, it’s over. It’s almost anticlimactic. But at least they’ve got some time to check around on the way back and see if there are any other situations that require their attention. There usually are, very few if any of them especially dangerous for the crew these days, but there are always distress calls and natural disasters and other problems the _Atlas_ can help with. 

 

But more importantly, there’s plenty of time for that Space Mall run now.

 

There is something about the words _Space Mall shore leave_ that turn even the oldest, most grizzled crew members into teenagers with their first paychecks burning holes in their pockets again. Even Slav--he tries to play it off as research into the connection between popular culture trends and whatever it is he thinks they’re potentially affecting in alternate realities, but everyone knows they’re going to find him at the toy store and/or the Space Mall’s version of Hot Topic buying all the cartoon merch he can carry. And with that many arms, he can carry a _lot_ of cartoon merch.

 

Curtis really just wants to find something for Takashi and then relax and people-watch. And that, in itself, is always a tricky quest. Takashi doesn’t wear jewelry, other than his wedding ring. He rarely wears a tie and doesn’t need or want any more than the one he has. Curtis would consider a T-shirt but he has a hard rule against buying any article of clothing with text on it that he can’t read. He’s seen enough unfortunate “decorative” text on enough articles of clothing to know better.

 

He steers _very_ clear of that “Terra” store. Some of the crew members bring stuff from Earth to sell to the grey alien that runs the place. He pays a hefty bounty for even the crummiest and most mundane Earth stuff, but everything about that store gives Curtis the creeps for reasons he’s not really sure how to articulate. Mostly, he doesn’t want to know how this guy was getting his hands on Earth toys and gadgets and video games and _cows_ before a single human person ever set foot in this mall. 

 

He checks the toy store to see if they might have some model kits, but comes up empty. And speaking of empty... he passes the action figure aisle and notices about a three-foot-wide section that is, from floor to ceiling, nothing but empty pegs. There’s a child throwing an epic temper tantrum over it, and the child’s mom is throwing an equally epic temper tantrum at an employee who is clearly not being paid enough to put up with any of this. The employee tries to patiently explain to the lady that someone just bought every Captain Sporel and Myco-Lad action figure they had and they are now completely out until the next shipment comes in two quintants from now. No, there are none “in the back.” No, they can’t request an emergency teludav shipment of one (1) action figure. No, they can’t go chase the guy down and demand he give the kid a Dr. Cordyceps figure (“give,” Curtis notes, horrified. Not “sell,” she actually expects this poor underpaid employee to chase a customer down and demand he give this kid, for free, an action figure he paid for). No, they can’t give the angry mom the guy’s description so _she_ can chase him down and mug him. Yes, they agree that it was kind of a jerk move for the guy to clean them out, but he got there first and he had cash. No, they are _not_ deliberately trying to ruin the kid’s sproutday. Sure, they would be happy to get the manager but she’s just going to say the same thing. 

 

Sometimes it’s interesting and even fun to see just how much is the same all the way on the other side of the universe, but this... _oof._ Poor guy. Now Curtis feels like he _has_ to buy something. 

 

A couple aisles over from the drama, there are some little collectible-looking toy landspeeders and stuff that look like the space equivalent of Matchbox cars. Takashi might like those, so he grabs a couple. Not bad, but he’d like to come home with a little more than toy space cars.

 

After a little more wandering, he ends up at one of the candy-and-snack shops. Well, he knows he can’t go wrong with a few bags of extra-spicy Comet Crunchies. Now that Takashi doesn’t have to worry about spicy food coming back to haunt him, he chows down on it like he’s making up for lost time. 

 

Curtis grabs a few bags of those for himself too. He doesn’t know what kind of crazy alien peppers they use to make the things, but they sure do get the endorphins flowing. 

 

While he’s in there, he tries a few samples. There are some weird-looking papery brown seed pod-looking things that burst into sugary pink fluff when squeezed, and he gets a bag of those. There are some fruity things that he passes on--they remind him a little too much of those strawberry hard candies his grandma’s purse seemed to spawn an infinite supply of. There’s something that probably isn’t chocolate but tastes close enough for Garrison work, and he gets a few bags of that.

 

And then there are some little bits of brightly colored chewy stuff that look like they should taste like literally _anything_ other than the horror they unleash on his taste buds. 

 

Black licorice. _Ick._

 

After a moment’s thought (and after chugging half a bottle of water to clear the taste out of his mouth) he takes the smallest available pack of those. Adam would have loved them. Maybe he and Takashi can take them to the wall when he gets home.

 

When he’s done there he checks the time. Still a couple of hours before he needs to be back on the _Atlas._ So he meanders up to the third level of the mall, to the bank of massage chairs lined up along the railing to offer a convenient people-watching perch and a little physical relief from a hard day of shopping. He sets his bags down, settles into the seat, and feeds it a few coins. It reclines a bit, and Curtis shuts his eyes and sighs happily as it does its thing and graces him with a sensation he can only describe as “being lovingly pummeled by the fists of a thousand tiny angels.”

 

They _really_ need a couple of these on the rec deck.

 

“Mind if I join you?”

 

Curtis looks over and sees Veronica piling her haul up by the chair next to his--bags and bags and _still more bags_ of goodies from the clothing stores and the makeup and bath stuff stores and the candy store and to top it all off, a ridiculously overhuge stuffed... well, he has no idea exactly what it is, but it looks like parts of pretty much every stereotypically cute Earth animal assembled into one. Floppy bunny ears (or maybe donkey ears?), a big fluffy purple tail, big blue eyes, a little pink button nose, chubby little paws with little pink toe beans, and a fat fluffy tummy. And it’s big. Really big. “Wow. Did you leave anything for the rest of us?”

 

Veronica feeds her chair some money. “Oh, please. Slav’s the one you need to talk to about that. He bought every single Captain Sporel and Myco-Lad action figure they had. Every. Last. One.” The chair leans back and starts doing its thing, and she shuts her eyes and groans. “Oh my God, _I needed this.”_

 

“You and me both--wait. You mean he bought every last one as in... one of every character, right?” Veronica just raises an eyebrow, and Curtis remembers the scene he just witnessed at the toy store and... oh. Oh _no._ Good thing the employee wouldn’t give her a description, he’d be impossible to miss. He considers texting Slav with a warning but... nah, he’ll be fine. So instead, he reaches over and pokes the stuffed whatever on the nose. “Is that for one of the niblings?”

 

“It’s for Acxa.” Veronica pets the little tuft of bright purple floof on the top of its head. “She never got to have anything like this growing up, y’know? She never got to just be a kid, so... I know I can’t give that back to her, but I can sure as hell buy her the biggest fluffiest cutest plush _whatever this is_ I can find. Hope they’ve got room for it on their ship.”

 

Right... Curtis needs to hit Keith up, see if they’ve got time to meet up somewhere. “Have you talked to her lately?”  


“The night before we took off, yeah. They were about to go run a mission, she said she’d ask Keith about us getting together somewhere after that.” Veronica gives the stuffed whatever another pat on the head. “There’s a lot of work she still wants to do before she comes back for good. And I get it. I get why she feels like she has to, and when she’s ready to settle down she’ll let me know. Until then...” She reaches over and grabs his hand. “This _sucks,_ Curtis. I miss her. I know we pretty much always get to meet up with her while we’re out but _I miss her.”_

 

Curtis lets out a sigh and gives her hand a squeeze. “I feel that.”

 

“I know you do.” She lets go and resettles the stuffed whatever between them. “How much longer do you think it’ll be before he gets sick of Earthside duty?”

 

A slow grin creeps across Curtis’ face. “I shouldn’t tell you this, because I know you have money riding on it--”

 

“Uh, _rude?_ Accusing me of gambling on the life choices of my bestest friends, the _nerve,_ where did you hear--”

 

“Communications officer. I hear _everything.”_ Curtis snickers a little. “I say he’ll stay on Earth one more year, tops. Then he’ll probably like... try to arm-wrestle Iverson for the--” There’s a buzz at his wrist. Veronica’s too, he guesses, since she checks her watch at the same time he does. 

 

Iverson’s ears must have been burning. He’s calling the bridge crew back to the _Atlas--_ a little over an hour early _._ And he wants them to come straight back to the bridge. “Huh,” Curtis says. “That’s weird. Wonder what happened?”

 

“Eh, he probably just wants us back there to hold the fort down so _he_ can come blow his paycheck.” Veronica gets up, hooks her bags back onto her arm, and hoists the stuffed whatever onto her hip. “I guess we shouldn’t keep him waiting too long. ...are you coming, or what?”

 

“Yeah, soon as this thing’s done?” Curtis shrugs and does not get up from his chair. “He didn’t say it was an emergency and we paid for a ten-dobosh massage--”

 

And then he hears it. A screaming child and...

 

“Excuse me! You! Yes, I’m talking to _you,_ mall cop! Have you seen a guy with an orange uniform and way too many arms come through here with a bunch of action figures? Were you even _looking? Yes,_ it’s an emergency! You need to go catch him! Make an announcement on the speaker thing! ...because _my son_ wants one of those action figures! Well, I am _making it_ your problem, mister! I don’t think you understand how _serious_ this is, _my son_ wants a--well, I want you to catch him and make him give my son a--oh, forget it! If you’re not going to do your job then get me your supervisor--wait a minute! Hey! _You two in the orange uniforms!”_

 

“Oh _crap--”_ Curtis pops up out of his chair, grabs his bags in one hand, grabs Veronica’s shoulder with the other, and urges her towards the exit. “Changed my mind. Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

Curtis makes a run by his cabin to drop off his goodies before he heads to the bridge and runs into Slav on the way. He doesn’t appear to have been roughed up or traumatized in any way--turns out he came straight back to the _Atlas_ after he cleaned out the toy store. Probably just as well. 

 

When he gets to the bridge, he finds that Veronica has, maybe a little passive-aggressively, followed Iverson’s orders to the letter and reported _directly_ to the bridge. Her bags are lined up under her console, and the stuffed whatever is sitting up against it. Iverson looks a little relieved when Curtis sits down at his console empty-handed but doesn’t comment on it. 

 

“All right, Captain,” Veronica says once everyone is settled in. “We’re all back, you can go shop ‘til you drop now.”

 

Iverson actually snorts out a little laugh at that. “I wish. While all of you were down there loading up on snacks and souvenirs and...” He gestures at Veronica’s stuffed critter chilling against her console. “...and whatever the hell _that_ is, we got a call from Blade Team Alpha.”

 

Curtis perks up a little at that. Veronica perks up a little more. That’s Keith’s team. Maybe he won’t need to make that call after all.

 

“They were just finishing up over in some sector way out in the middle of nowhere on the other side of the Seron-47D Belt when they picked up a distress signal from a planet that’s supposedly uninhabited,” Iverson goes on. “Really weak signal, too. Any farther away and they would have missed it.”

 

“That’s strange,” Curtis says. He’s poking around the charts for that area and... yeah, that sure is remote. “Not necessarily something they need to call us for, though.”

 

“Maybe not but one, we’re the closest Coalition ship to that area right now and two...” Iverson tweaks something on his console and starts a recording of something playing. “This is what they picked up.”

 

At first Curtis can’t pick anything out of the background noise. But then he notices a pattern. It’s faint. Whatever sort of beacon these people managed to jury-rig, it’s barely working. But it _is_ working and what’s more, that pattern it’s transmitting is familiar. Three short pulses. Three long. Three more short. Then it repeats. And repeats. Over and over.

 

“What!?” Curtis makes some adjustments to bring the pattern out a little more. Every human on the bridge recognizes that pattern, and they’re probably all thinking the same thing. This doesn’t make any sense. Out there in that remote system...

 

No wonder Keith thought they needed to know about this.

 

He supposes it’s not impossible that some other civilization somewhere out there might have adopted that particular pattern as a distress call. Not impossible... but what are the chances of that? About the same as the chances of a human, or some humans, getting all the way out there without anyone knowing about it, Curtis supposes.

 

“So... are we going to check it out?” Veronica asks, and Iverson shakes his head. 

 

“Not yet. Keith is taking his team in to see what’s going on, says he’ll call us when he knows more.”

 

Curtis listens to that repeating pattern. A very short message in a language they understand, in a very tiny bottle, drifting out into the universe. Who could have put it out there?

 

* * *

 

They don’t hear from Keith for the rest of Curtis’ shift and he’s kind of tempted to put in some overtime. This is a hell of a mystery and he can’t quite seem to let it go, but the night crew can handle it and it’s not going to do him or anyone else any good if he burns himself out working around the clock. So when the night crew comes in and turnover is done, he reluctantly clears out and heads back to his cabin.

 

Of course word’s gotten out about the actual SOS they picked up out in the intergalactic boonies, and the rumor mill is working overtime.

 

It’s a trap, one of the more popular--and plausible--rumors says. Space pirates, maybe. They’re not nearly as brazen as they used to be, and not nearly as dangerous, but they’re still a potential threat. And they _have_ pulled something like that on the _Atlas_ and the Paladins before, after all.

 

It really is a human, or group of humans, one of the other popular rumors says. Survivors of the invasion who somehow ended up on the other side of the universe. It’s not impossible, but it’s unlikely. Curtis heard enough that day to know how unlikely it is. It’s also a rabbit hole he really doesn’t want to go down. He’s been there with Takashi and doesn’t want to go there again.

 

It’s a sentient planet that learned to mimic signals it’s heard, one of the wilder rumors says, and... well. Also not impossible, but someone on this ship sure has a healthy imagination.

 

Curtis sets his phone on the counter next to his coffee machine and starts a cup brewing while he changes out of his uniform and into some sweat pants and a T-shirt. Just as he’s tossing his socks into the laundry bag and contemplating a pack of those chocolate-like things, the phone rings. Right on schedule. He reaches over and thumbs the speaker button and sets about dumping cream and sugar into his coffee. “Hey, babe.”

 

“Hey, Curtiepie.” The sound of Takashi’s voice always gets Curtis a little warm and fluttery in the stomach when they’re apart like this, no matter how many times he hears it--and no matter what goofy pet name it’s shaped into. “Everything go okay with the... thing?”

 

“The _thing,”_ Curtis says as he takes the phone and his coffee and a bag of the chocolate-like things to the couch, “took maybe three hours. Eat, smile and wave for the cameras, and then everyone went home. So we just packed up and went to the Space Mall.”

 

 _“Ooh,”_ Takashi says. “What’d you get me?”

 

“Ah-ah.” A slow grin creeps across Curtis’ face. “You said to surprise you.” There’s a soft, familiar sound in the background--the rhythmic whirring of little motors. “Is that the printer?”

 

“Yeah, it’s running like a champ now.” Takashi laughs a little. “I called Judy after I got home from dropping you off. Some kind of hardware-software compatibility... something. It took her literally five minutes to find a fix and I’ve just been sitting here watching it go since I got home. It’s like watching grass grow, but...”

 

“But now it’s got you hypnotized.” Yeah, he gets it. Watching a 3D printer do its thing is fascinating... for about five minutes. And then it’s too late, it’s got you hooked in and you can’t tear yourself away from it. “How are they doing?”

 

“They’re doing okay.” Takashi is quiet for a while. “Judy’s still kinda mad because they didn’t ask her to do the statue, but--”

 

 _“God.”_ No, Curtis doesn’t blame her at all. He kind of gets why whoever decided to put a statue of Adam in one of Calgary’s parks might have thought it’d be kind of tacky to ask his own mother to sculpt it, but... well, as they’ve all so often said, it was a nice gesture and that’s about the nicest thing any of them can say about that statue. “Oh! Hey, Keith called in.”

 

“Yeah?” Takashi seems to perk up a bit at that. “Are you going to have time to meet up, or nah?”

 

“Ah... I’m not sure yet.” Curtis frowns. How much should he tell Takashi about this over the phone? “He picked up something weird and he might need our help on it, so we’re waiting to hear back from him. If it turns out to be nothing... I don’t know, we might start heading back, maybe he can come with us.” 

 

“That’d be nice,” Takashi says, and he chuckles a little. “Bet Veronica wouldn’t have a problem with that either.”

 

Curtis thinks about the giant stuffed animal sitting against Veronica’s console. “Yeah. I need to send you a picture of the--the _thing_ she got Acxa--”

 

“I don’t know if I want to see a _thing_ she got for Acxa--”

 

“It’s not that kind of a _thing!”_ Curtis sputters, and Takashi busts out laughing. “It’s a stuffed animal! Get your mind out of the gutter! ...at least until I get home.”

 

“Aw. So, speaking of which, uh..” Curtis can practically hear the grin spreading across Takashi’s face. “What are you wearing?”

 

Yep. There it is. 

 

Takashi is not expecting an honest answer to that question. This is one of their in-jokes, one of the silly games they play, one of the ways they make each other laugh while they’re apart. And sometimes this little game leads to more... _intense_ conversations, but never mind that.

 

Curtis keeps a little text file on his phone for this specific reason, for future responses he comes up at random times of the day. There’s one really horrible one in there, one he’s been holding in reserve for a day when they both desperately need to laugh. It’s two words. Two words that evoke the most delightfully _awful_ mental image. 

 

But today is not the day to play that card. “Metallic purple short shorts with Arusian script bedazzled across the butt, which I’m told says ‘firm yet juicy,’” Curtis replies without missing a beat, and Takashi _loses it._

 

* * *

 

Close to the end of Curtis’ shift the next day, Keith calls back. 

 

They’ve settled into orbit around that planet and they’ve found something, all right--there’s a single small settlement in a temperate zone. There’s also the wreckage of what looks like a freighter, the kind the rebels used for transporting refugees and people they freed from the prison ships to safe planets. Hard to get a good look at it from orbit and at night, but from what they can tell it looks like it’s been there for a few years.

 

Keith says he’s done a little asking around, called up a few of the former rebels he knows--Matt, Rolo, Olia, and a few others. None of them know anything off the top of their heads about a transport ship that would have been in that area and without knowing where it might have been meaning to go, trying to search through flight plans and such that far back would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Matt thinks he remembers hearing something about a transport ship that disappeared, but he wouldn’t swear to it. He’d only heard it in passing and things were crazy at the time, and he couldn’t hang back and ask for details while Sendak was kicking Earth around.

 

The planet seems safe enough, Keith says, so they’re going to go ahead and land near the settlement and see what’s going on. He says he’ll call back as soon as he’s got something to tell them.

 

This time it’s even harder for Curtis to knock off when the night crew comes in.

 

Refugees and freed prisoners. 

 

And someone among them is at least somewhat familiar with human distress signals.

 

He probably shouldn’t tell Takashi about that part until they know what they’re really dealing with here. In fact... it’d probably be best if he himself didn’t dwell on it too much.

 

* * *

 

“C’mon. Gimme all the details.”

 

Curtis sighs and puts his feet up on the other end of the couch. He was afraid of this. He’s not going to lie to his husband, but he still tried to be as vague as possible about the situation and he made extra sure to leave out the part about the SOS. There’s a crashed rebel freighter, a small colony of what are probably survivors of the crash, and Keith was taking his crew in to investigate, that’s all he says. But Takashi knows him far too well, and he can tell there’s something about this situation that’s got him rattled, and now he’s trying to gently shake Curtis down for the rest of the story and... “I can’t. Mostly because I don’t know them.”

 

“You gotta know _something,_ though? C’mon. I’ve got a high enough security clearance.”

 

“Over a consumer phone connection? _No,_ babe! Come on!”

 

“Okay, then give me half an hour to get back to my office and call me on the official--”

 

 _“Takashi.”_ Curtis rubs his forehead. “Okay. The shortest possible version of God’s honest truth is, _we don’t know what it is.”_ And that _is_ true. They have no idea what Keith is going to find when he lands, beyond that crashed freighter and some survivors. “We won’t know anything else until we hear back from Keith and I promise you, if it turns out to be something you need to know about, I’ll call you. Until then...” He knows Takashi can’t see him, but he flaps a hand anyway. “I don’t know. I’m a little concerned it could be a trap for reasons I’m not going to get into on a consumer phone connection and which I _promise_ are not worth running back to your office at whatever o’clock at night to hear, but Keith seems to think it’s safe to go in so I’m going to trust him on that.”

 

Takashi huffs out a little petulant noise. Curtis kind of feels bad about keeping the details from him, but there are a number of reasons he doesn’t think mentioning the SOS would be a good idea, and the main one is... he knows exactly where Takashi’s mind will go if he does. From “rebel transport ship of the sort used to ferry refugees and freed prisoners to safe planets” to “several years” to “possibly human” to... no. Best not to go there. They’ve gone there before, on one of Takashi’s bad nights early-ish in their relationship, and that discussion escalated into a very short argument that Curtis still feels terrible about. 

 

Takashi had a nightmare about the arena, as he sometimes did, except this time Adam was there. He couldn’t bring himself to go into any more detail than Adam’s presence, and that told Curtis plenty. But whatever it was, it sent Takashi down a spiral of guilt and regret and _what if_ that no amount of gentle reasoning could pull him out of. It was the first and only time Curtis ever raised his voice to Takashi and sure, it worked, it got the point across and snapped him back to reality, but he still feels horrible about it and he hopes they never have to have that conversation again.

 

“Babe, I promise if anything comes up that you need to know about, _I will call you._ Until then, please just trust me.” And since he knows Takashi is not going to drop this until he’s distracted with a new topic... “So anyway, what are you wearing?”

 

Takashi is quiet for a moment, and Curtis starts to worry that maybe this wasn’t the time. “Neon green zebra print crop top and a matching Speedo,” he finally replies. “With socks and sandals.”

 

Curtis bursts out laughing, more out of relief than anything. _“Hot.”_

 

* * *

 

When Curtis reports to the bridge the next morning, it’s clear that something happened overnight. They’re laying in a course for that “uninhabited” planet, one that will take them safely around the massive asteroid belt between it and their current position. 

 

Keith called in, Iverson tells the day crew as they’re settling in. While most of the survivors of the crash have decided to stay where they are, enough of them want to leave that Keith’s little ship won’t have room to carry them. That’s not an area the _Atlas_ crew is familiar with, and Iverson isn’t confident enough in his current level of teludav proficiency to risk opening up a wormhole in unfamiliar territory that close to an asteroid belt, so they’re taking the long way and it’ll take them a couple of days to get there. It’s probably just as well. The survivors who want to leave all seem to have loose ends they want to tie up and jobs they need to teach someone else to do and that sort of thing. 

 

There’s also a wishlist of supplies and equipment the ones who want to stay are going to need. It’s a surprisingly short list--comm equipment, most urgently. Then lighting and power tools and farming equipment, stuff like that. The _Atlas_ has most of the stuff on board and can afford to part with it, and they can pick up the rest on the way.

 

There’s nothing in this little mini-briefing about where that SOS came from or who set it up. But if that really was a human’s doing, that human will probably want a ride home. 

 

They’ll find out soon enough.

 

* * *

 

Well... maybe not soon enough for everyone.

 

The next two nights of calls from home are a little touchy. Takashi is dying to know what’s going on, and other than what Curtis has already told him (or already decided he probably shouldn’t tell him just yet) there’s nothing new to tell other than “some of the survivors want to stay, some want to leave and we’re going to pick them up.” That doesn’t keep Takashi from trying to poke and prod for new information, so Curtis just as gently steers the conversation elsewhere.

 

“How’s the printer doing?” Curtis asks.

 

“It’s still doing. I thought it crapped out on me again last night, but it turns out it uh...” He lets out a little sheepish chuckle. “Just ran out of filament. It’s all good, Pidge hooked me up. I might actually have this thing put together by the time you get home.”

 

“Nice.” He’s working on an F-16 this time, Curtis thinks. Or was it an F-15? One of those old fighter jets. “Shouldn’t be much longer. We’re just going to pick up these folks, drop them off... somewhere, I don’t know where yet, somewhere they can get rides wherever they want to go and then we’ll probably head back. _And,”_ he goes on before Takashi can even draw a breath to prod him for more details, “I will tell you _everything_ the minute we get home.”

 

“Aw, you’re no fun.” He sounds disappointed, and Curtis can’t tell whether he’s playing or serious. Maybe he should recalculate that guesstimate on how much longer it’ll be before Takashi decides to fight Iverson in the street for command of the _Atlas._  

 

“Listen, forget about all that,” Curtis says. “Let’s talk about something _really_ important. Like... what you’re wearing right now.”

 

“Uh...” Takashi goes silent for a bit, and then there’s a snicker. “Hang on, let me just show you.” Oh, Curtis already knows this one is going to be a gem. “Okay. Check your texts.”

 

“Okay...” Curtis tabs over and finds one new text from Takashi. 

 

It contains a photo that’s clearly been copied from some online catalog, of an apron emblazoned with the words _may I suggest the SAUSAGE_ and under that, a cartoon finger pointing down.

 

It’s captioned _...and nothing else ;)_

 

“Think I might take you up on that,” Curtis says when he remembers how to use his words and stops wheezing and snorting in Takashi’s ear. “What are you _really_ wearing?”

 

“Ooh.” There’s a wicked little chuckle, some rustling, and the soft squeak of mattress springs on the other end. “Less than I was five minutes ago.”

 

* * *

 

The planet is a lot like Earth. About the same size. Looks like it has about a twenty-seven hour day and... Curtis isn’t sure exactly how long its year would be, but he guesses it’s longer than Earth’s. Other than that, it looks pretty similar. White clouds swirling in the atmosphere, white ice caps, blue water and green and brown land. 

 

The _Atlas_ is too big to land near the settlement, but that’s what shuttles are for. From the bridge, Curtis can see the wrecked freighter that’s slowly being claimed by nature and he wonders whether the missing engine was scrapped for parts or some absolute badass of a pilot actually managed to land the thing like that. He sees the little houses and huts and yurts and other little buildings scattered around the green field and drifting off towards the forest on one side and the lake on the other, and gray paths connecting them all to each other and the wreck. And he sees people, standing around an area he guesses is their town square. He finds himself looking for anyone he can identify with any degree of certainty as human, but their images on the display are too small for him to pick out much detail.

 

The shuttles land in the big wide space near Keith’s ship, and groups of survivors start filing onto them. They look like little multicolored ants on the screen.

 

One by one, the shuttles lift off for the short return trip to the _Atlas._ Down in the town square, some of the remaining survivors look like they might be waving goodbye.

 

 _“Atlas,_ that’s the last of the folks who want a ride, we’re going to help your crew unload the supplies down here and we’ll be up in a few minutes.”

 

“Sounds good, Keith,” Curtis says. “We’ve got your usual parking spot ready. See you in a little bit. Hey, uh... just out of curiosity, did you find out what was up with that signal?”

 

“Um... yeah, about that. I wasn’t sure how to tell you...” Keith is quiet for an almost uncomfortable length of time. “Actually, I think it’d be better if you see for yourself. Can you meet me in medbay in about ten, fifteen minutes?”

 

“Um...” Tell him...what? See _what_ for himself? But Keith seems pretty sure that this is something they need to discuss in person. So Curtis catches Iverson’s eye, and Iverson waves him towards the door. 

 

“It’s fine. Go ahead and take off, we’ll call you back if we need you.”

 

“Okay. Be right there.” Curtis nods his thanks and heads for the lift and wonders what the hell is going on. 

 

Keith thinks he needs to see something or some _one_ right now, and he knows it’s going to be a shock. That much is obvious, but... what, or _who,_ did they find down there? There’s a very short list of people Keith could think Curtis, specifically, needs to see, and none of them could have possibly been down there... right?

 

Right?

 

It can’t be David. There is absolutely no doubt that he died in that attack. There was video--from the bodycam of a soldier behind him. Curtis didn’t watch it. But his aunt did. She’s a surgeon, she’d seen everything there is to see on the inside of a human body, and she volunteered to go down and look at the footage so nobody else in the family would have to. All she’ll say about it is that it was mercifully quick but there is absolutely no chance that he survived. The only even remotely plausible thing Curtis can think of, family-wise, is that one of the cousins they thought had died in the camp might have gotten herded onto a prison ship and sent away, then later liberated by the rebels. 

 

Or maybe this bunch of rebels somehow managed to stumble across another one of those Kuron clones floating around in space and... okay, that’s a huge reach but what else could it be? _Who_ else--

 

He thinks about the wrecked ship again. The missing engine. 

 

It was hard to tell for sure at that altitude and with nature gradually claiming the ship as its own, but the more Curtis thinks about it, the more sure he is that the missing engine didn’t look like it had been deliberately removed, even hacked off with the crudest tools that could get the job done. It looked like it had been torn off in flight.

 

Some absolute badass of a pilot actually _did_ manage to land the thing like that, and that thought leads down a road Curtis knows is dangerous.

 

The Garrison couldn’t risk sending anyone out to search the area where the wreckage of Adam’s squadron would have come down until after they’d dealt with Sendak and then with the Robeast. Nobody expected to find Adam’s body, or those of any of his pilots, or even much left of their fighters after all that time. They expected to find a bit of scrap metal at best, and that’s exactly what they found. The grave in Calgary under a headstone with Adam’s name on it is empty and has always been. And when there’s no body to bury, there are always rumors. There’s always speculation. Even Takashi, in a few of his most vulnerable moments, has been known to latch on to the idea that Adam could still be out there somewhere, could still be alive. But Curtis never believed it. Not for one moment. There were times when he _wanted_ to believe it, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. He was there. He saw the whole thing happen in real time. He knew what he heard. He was sure he’d heard Adam die.

 

Then again... he was just as sure he’d heard Takashi die on Kerberos, wasn’t he?

 

He doesn’t know how it could even be possible. And he knows how dangerous this train of thought is. He knows it leads nowhere good, and he knows how painful it is when it’s inevitably forced off its tracks by reality. But the closer the lift comes to its destination, the more certain Curtis is that somehow, against all possible odds, Keith found Adam out here. 

 

Curtis steps out of the lift and heads for medbay and tries like hell to walk like a normal person but his legs aren’t listening to him and they desperately want to run, to get him to medbay as fast as they can, and Curtis negotiates a compromise with them and picks up his pace to a light jog. There’s a lot of foot traffic coming in and out of there right now. They’re checking the new arrivals out, Curtis guesses, mainly to make sure they’re not carrying anything contagious, probably also to fix anything they might need fixed after being stranded in primitive conditions for so long. 

 

They look fine to him, actually. They look well-fed and alert and clean, dressed in simple but brightly colored clothing, excited to be on their way home or wherever it is they want to go. But he doesn’t recognize any of them, and he doesn’t see Keith. He isn’t sure what else to do, so he catches an orderly by the shoulder. “Excuse me,” he says, “I’m looking for--”

 

_“I don’t want the damn eye lasers!”_

 

Curtis feels all of the blood drain out of his face and has to brace a hand against the wall to keep his legs from giving out. 

 

Then Keith’s voice: “Oh, come on! Don’t be a baby! You only have one left, let them fix it so you can--”

 

“Exactly! I only have one left and I can’t afford to fuck it up--”

 

Later, much later, _months_ later, Curtis will tell Adam and Takashi this story, will tell them how that one four-letter word cemented it in his mind, and they’ll all have a good laugh about it. But right now, he feels like he’s going to pass out. 

 

“I’m--” he says to the orderly, and it doesn’t even sound like his own voice. “I’m looking for--” The name sticks in his throat. Oh God, what if he’s wrong, if he’s getting his hopes up for nothing but who else could that be? “--Adam Wolf,” Curtis finally croaks out, “is he--”

 

He expects the orderly to give him a weird look, shake his head, give him an answer along the lines of _no, of course not, he died in the invasion, didn’t he?_ But instead he just checks his tablet and nods. “Oh--yes, sir. He’s right in here, Commander Shirogane.” The orderly gestures to an exam room door just ahead, like he doesn’t even understand the significance of what either of them just said and how can he, he wasn’t there, he didn’t-- “Are you, uh... are you okay, sir?”

 

“Y-yeah.” Curtis clears his throat and tries to get himself together, or at least do a passable job of pretending to. “I’m fine, thanks, just--yeah.”

 

The orderly nods and moves on, and Curtis steels his nerves and opens the door.

 

There’s no moment of doubt. No uncertainty. Even though he’s changed so much.

 

Curtis isn’t surprised to see the scars. But other than that, he looks _good._ He’s been spending a lot of time outdoors. Whatever sun he’s been under has left streaks of gold in his hair and brought out copper in his skin. He’s still skinny-ish, and that isn’t a surprise either; no matter how much he tried he’d never really been able to put on much in the way of muscle. His metabolism just isn’t wired that way. But overall, he looks healthy and strong. 

 

And... well... that short shaggy haircut always looked fine on him, but now Curtis stares at that thick braid shot through with gold and he grieves for every single hair Adam ever left on a barber shop floor and curses every pair of scissors that separated them from his head.

 

It _is_ Adam. He looks so different but there’s no doubt. Not even for a second. It’s Adam. _It’s really Adam._ He’s alive. He’s okay. And he’s right here. Close enough that Curtis could take two steps and reach out and touch him again. But he can’t quite bring himself to. He’s afraid to move, afraid to _breathe,_ afraid even thinking too hard about this will shatter the whole thing.

 

 _“...Adam!?”_ he finally squeaks. 

 

And now that he’s said it out loud... now it’s real. 

 

He’s not sure who moves first, but they meet somewhere in the middle, arms tight around each other, Adam’s face buried in the side of Curtis’ neck. He smells different. Like forest and leather and wood smoke and plain soap. It’s different, but it’s a good smell, warm and earthy and _alive,_ God, he’s alive, he’s okay, he’s--

 

Curtis realizes he must have made some kind of noise, he must have sniffled or gulped in a breath or something, because Adam holds him even tighter. 

 

“Oh shit,” Adam whimpers. “Oh no. Don’t cry. Curtis, sweetheart, _please_ don’t cry, I’m begging you--”

 

It was probably already too late, but that old pet name is the fatal sucker punch straight to Curtis’ heart. He muffles a sob in Adam’s shoulder, and that just sets Adam off, and... later, he’ll be a little embarrassed but right now he just can’t find it in him to care. Adam is alive. He’s really alive and he’s really okay and he’s really right here in Curtis’ arms again and--oh. _Oh._

 

“I--I’m sorry,” Curtis sniffles, and Adam pats his back. “I thought you were--your video, we watched it, and we--”

 

“I know. I know. It worked. Keith told me. He showed me your wedding pictures.” Adam steps back a little and cups Curtis’ face between his hands. They’re rough and callused--he’s been working hard. “Is he making you happy?”

 

Curtis can’t help but laugh, just a little. “Yeah.”

 

“That’s what I wanted.” Adam smiles, warm and genuine. “That’s _exactly_ what I wanted. And I’m just--” He throws his arms around Curtis again. “I’m so glad it worked.”

 

Curtis knows him well enough to know he means that. So he just hangs on to Adam until he gets all the tears out of his system, and Adam just hangs on to him and lets him. 

 

And when he finally gets himself together and Adam lets him go, Keith steps in for _his_ hug. “Hey, buddy. You coming home with us?”

 

“Yeah, we’re kinda between missions now, we’ve got time.” Keith pats Curtis on the back and lets out a sheepish little laugh. “You see why I didn’t want to just tell you over the comm, right?”

 

 _“Boy.”_ Curtis steps back and scrubs a sleeve over his eyes. “So... it looks like I kind of walked in on some drama here.”

 

“Yeah.” Adam clears his throat and points an accusing finger at Keith. “Tell him I don’t need lasers in my eye.”

 

“Tell _him_ he needs to get it fixed!” Keith shoots back, with his own accusing finger.

 

“What?” Wait. _Eye?_ Singular? ...oh, crap! Curtis didn’t even notice the eyepatch, or else he noticed it and just didn’t think about what it meant. “Oh! Well, um...”

 

Keith rubs his forehead. “Look, they’re offering, it’ll take like five minutes, and--I mean--he’s going to need to drive? He might want to fly?”

 

“Damn right I want to fly!”

 

“What else is he going to do? Get a monocle?” 

 

“Yes!” Adam rolls his eyes-- _eye._ “Thank you, Keith! That’s a _great_ idea and that’s exactly what I’m going to do! Hell, I was going to get a new pair of glasses and just have an actual lens on the side with the eye, you know, _like a normal person would_ but a monocle sounds rad as hell--”

 

Curtis takes a moment to ponder the mental image of Adam with a monocle. It’s an interesting image, but... no. “I don’t think the vision center does monocles these days.”

 

“Curtis.” Adam grabs him by the front of his jacket and pulls him down to eye level and almost off-balance, and Curtis squawks and awkwardly flaps his arms to keep from tumbling right on top of Adam and knocking them both onto the floor. “You know I have a--a _thing_ about things in my eyes. _I do not. Want. Lasers. In my eye.”_

 

“Wh--um--okay, well--” God, Curtis did not wake up this morning expecting to have _any_ of the conversations he’s had in the last ten minutes. “If you really, really don’t want it, nobody’s going to make you,” he tries to reassure Adam, patting his hand and trying without a lot of success to gently untangle it from his uniform. “But it’d probably be a good idea. It’s okay. It won’t hurt, I promise--”

 

“Really? When did you get _yours_ done?”

 

“Uh--” Curtis clears his throat and tries to think of a counter to that, but... well, it’s a valid point. “I haven’t, but--”

 

“So you don’t know.”

 

“I told him we could call Matt,” Keith says.

 

“Yeah, Matt got his done, right? And he’s fine! Oh, and my sister did too, she says you just look at this little red light and--” 

 

“The little red light again! Everyone keeps talking about the little red light but nobody’s explaining what happens if they _miss!”_

 

“They won’t miss. That’s what the light’s for, I think? You just look right at it and--”

 

“What if I blink? Curtis, are you understanding that _I only have one eye left?_ ”

 

Curtis looks at Keith. Keith gives him a helpless shrug.

 

Oh, he shouldn’t do this. 

 

He should _not_ do this. But what else is Adam going to do? Walk around with one nearsighted eye for the rest of his life? Curtis isn’t sure the Garrison will let him fly with one eye, but knows he can’t even _drive_ unless he gets it corrected somehow. Sure, he could get glasses, but... glasses _and_ an eyepatch? Wouldn’t it just be easier to take the five minutes and get the surgery? And his vision is only going to get worse as he gets older, Curtis already catches Takashi squinting at the menu sometimes when they go out for dinner...

 

Of course Curtis isn’t going to hold him down and force him to get it done... but he can do the next best thing. 

 

He sticks his lower lip out--not much, just enough to give the right effect-- and gives Adam his best big blue puppydog eyes. “Will you do it if I stay with you?”

 

Adam huffs out a little disgusted noise and scowls at him. It’s... it’s more cute than anything, really.

 

“That’s a cheap shot and you know it,” he grumbles.

 

* * *

 

It takes ten minutes. 

 

Three minutes for Curtis to gently convince Adam to hold still so the doctor can put the anaesthetic eyedrops in, five minutes to do the actual eye-lasering, and another two minutes for Curtis to gently convince Adam to hold still so the doctor can do what he needs to do after the actual eye-lasering.

 

Five minutes after _that,_ the three of them are sitting in a recovery room with Curtis and Keith looking at each other and trying like hell not to laugh and Adam going around the room ransacking drawers and cabinets for bottles and boxes and everything with print on it that he can get his hands on and reading it just because he can.

 

“So,” Curtis finally says, and Keith turns away and presses a fist to his mouth as even that one casual syllable threatens to set him off, “that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

 

“I guess. Good thing I’ve only got the one, no way in hell would I let them do it again.” Adam closes the drawer he’s been poking through and squints at Curtis. “Hey. Hang on. What’s that?”

 

“...what?”

 

Adam sits back down next to him. “Don’t move.” He reaches up, and--

 

 _“Ow!_ Adam! What the--”

 

And then Curtis gets a good look at what Adam is holding between his thumb and forefinger and... oh. Oh no. In his defense, premature graying runs in his family and also he _has_ been through a lot of stressful stuff in his life, but... really!?

 

“Ooh,” Adam says, turning Curtis’ head to the other side. “I think I saw another one.”

 

“S-stop it!” Curtis ducks away, gently swatting at Adam’s searching fingers, trying not to laugh and doing a terrible job of it, and Keith isn’t even trying. “Hey, excuse me?” Curtis calls out the door. “Can someone come un-laser his eye back to the way it was, please? _”_

 

* * *

 

Eventually the doctor comes back in. Other than the missing eye and some nerve damage in his left arm and hand that they can’t fix, Adam is fine. He figured as much about his hand, he tells Curtis and Keith. It gives him a little trouble sometimes--it cramps up, or gets a little tired and clumsy, or some such thing. But it’s never kept him from doing the things he needs to do, and he’s determined to not let it start now.

 

Since there’s nothing else they can do for him there, the doctor signs off on his mostly clean bill of health and lets him go. Keith runs off to visit Hunk, and Curtis calls back to the bridge to let Iverson know what’s up. When Iverson hears who they just picked up with the survivors, he’s... “more than happy” might not be the best descriptor, but at least he doesn’t need to be persuaded to let Curtis out of the rest of his shift so he can show Adam around. Maybe he still feels guilty about his part in what happened to Adam’s squadron and, well... he should.

 

Curtis is not really sure how he’s going to break the news to Adam about who the current captain of the _Atlas_ is, much less how they’re going to handle the inevitable face-to-face encounter, but he figures they’ll just have to burn that bridge when they get to it. He’s a little ashamed to even have the thought cross his mind for one second, but if Adam were to try and take a swing at Iverson... well, Curtis would try and hold him back, of course, because that would be the right thing to do. He sure wouldn’t try very hard, but he'd try.

 

For now, he takes Adam on a quick tour, showing him the important places--the galley, the training deck, the observation lounge, and so on. 

 

By the time they get to the rec deck, Adam has been on board long enough for word to start getting out and they barely take two steps out of the lift when there’s a yell of _“ohmygod Commander Wolf!”_ and Adam gets tackle-pounced by a blur of dark hair and orange uniform. Adam lets out some bewildered muffled noise while his brain tries to process this.

 

“Hi, Nadia,” Curtis says mildly. Nadia lets go of Adam with one hand long enough to wave at him.

 

As always, where there’s one MFE pilot, there’s all of them. At least by the time _they_ pile on, Adam has figured out who exactly it is that’s so happy to see him and he’s trying his best to hug four people with two arms. It’s not exactly working, but nobody involved seems to care all that much.

 

“I’m so glad to see you guys.” Adam ruffles hair and pats backs and eventually the MFE team lets him go and steps back. “Staying out of trouble?”

 

 _“Some_ of us are,” Nadia says in that distinct snarky tone that means at least one of them is definitely not staying out of trouble. Curtis has heard Veronica’s account of this story already, but he’d rather let _them_ tell it. “And _some_ of us are getting caught in supply closets with our girlfr--”

 

“HEY OKAY HOW ABOUT LET’S _NOT?”_ James shouts right over the top of her. His ears are turning red. Adam just _beams._ Curtis does too, because he knows perfectly well just how little room Adam has to scold James on this one. And how little room Takashi would have. And, well... how little room he himself has, with both of them... but never mind that. 

 

“Guys,” Adam says, “we need to all sit down and catch up later. I mean, I heard the short version of what went down after, uh... _that_ but... you did good, guys. I knew I picked the right team.”

 

Nobody says anything to that for a long time, and James kind of looks like he wants to cry. “We should have--” he starts. He clears his throat. “When they took you off the squadron--we should have said something.” The rest of the team nods solemnly. “We should have told Iverson or Sanda or whoever where to cram it, one of _us_ should have quit instead, you shouldn’t have had to--”

 

“Hey. No. Don’t do that.” Adam squeezes his shoulder. “You didn’t know what was going to happen. It’s okay. And it worked out fine for you. You’re a great team and I’m just so f--” 

 

Curtis realizes he’s holding his breath just as Adam gets that look on his face that means his internal standards and practices department has stamped a big red _X_ on whatever he was about to say.

 

“--so freaking proud of you guys,” he finishes. Curtis lets that breath out.

 

But Ina just gives Adam that _look._ The one she gives when someone has completely missed something that she thinks should have been obvious. “Commander Wolf? We’re not cadets anymore. And we’re all over eighteen.” She raises an eyebrow. “You can say ‘fuck.’”

 

Curtis hears a noise in his head like a needle being unceremoniously dragged across a record. 

 

He has never heard any of the MFE pilots say that word. Oh, he’s sure they’ve said it, just not where he can hear it. And he figured he _would_ eventually hear at least one of them say it. But he never in a million years would have guessed it’d be _Ina,_ not even in a context as clinical as this one. He looks around at the faces of the rest of the MFE team, and he sees varying degrees of discomfort on their faces as well. Nadia looks like she just bit down on a rogue piece of aluminum foil in a baked potato. James looks downright scandalized.

 

“Nope,” Ryan says. “That did _not_ sound right coming out of her mouth.”

 

Adam just sighs and sweeps Ina back into his arms. “You always were my favorite.” 

 

“What!? Since _when!?”_

 

“Oh, come on! You said I was your favorite!”

 

“Nah. He said _I_ was.”

 

Curtis watches them jokingly argue over which of them is _really_ Adam’s favorite and remembers the night after the fifth MFE fighter blew up on the flightline, the night Adam thought he was going to have to cut one of them from the team and spent half the night on the couch with his head in Curtis’ lap trying to figure out which one. He couldn’t decide. They were all his favorite.

 

And then the next morning, he went in and found out that Sanda had taken that decision--and the MFE squadron--out of his hands, and--

 

Curtis shakes his head as if to clear that thought out of it. That, too, is a dangerous road to go down. It’s all in the past and the person responsible for it is dead and there’s nothing that can be done about it now and obsessing over it will do nothing to change what happened. 

 

Adam is alive and safe now. That’s all that matters.

 

* * *

 

A few of the other survivors have already found the ag deck when they get there. All of them worked on the farm, Adam says, and now they’re wandering up and down the rows of hydroponic planters and hanging baskets and fertilizer tanks with wide eyes and big smiles, like kids in a toy store. Curtis has never seen anyone get so excited about zucchini. As far as he’s concerned they can take all of _that_ with them, but never mind that.

 

Adam hands his seeds over to a tech tending the plants, and he waves the other survivors over so they can do a better job of explaining the best ways to raise them.

 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if a couple of them end up staying on here,” Curtis says when Adam comes back to his side. “They’re really into this.”

 

Adam laughs a little. “Yeah. We started off having to do all this stuff just to survive, but now it’s just... y’know, what we do for a living. And we all get really nerdy about really weird shit now, everyone just kind of fell into making something or doing something they could trade for the stuff everyone else made and did and up till the pub opened up we had literally nothing else to do all day and night but learn as much as we could about whatever we did, and...” He rolls his eyes-- _eye,_ Curtis is not going to get used to that anytime soon--and huffs out a sigh. “Curtis, for the love of God, don’t get me started on goat cheese, I will never _ever_ shut the fuck up about it.”

 

“Wow.” Curtis is tempted, sorely tempted to get Adam started by asking what specific kind of goat cheese, especially after that thing with the gray hair but... no, that would be mean. “You had a _pub?”_

 

“Yeah. That was Mellari’s thing. She started off doing like... have you ever tried prison wine?”

 

“Wh-- _no!?”_

 

“Me either, but whatever you think it tastes like? Her first batch was worse than that.” Curtis shudders, and he must be making some kind of horrified face because Adam catches it and laughs softly. “It’s okay. She got better at it, same as we all did. She pretty much just did wine and mead and all of it was way too sweet for me but...” A weird, wistful look flashes across Adam’s face. “You would have liked it.” 

 

Curtis starts to ask what that look was, but decides it would be best to leave that alone. “Well... you could introduce me? Maybe she packed some for the road.”

 

“Nah.” Adam shakes his head. “She’s staying. Nowhere else to go. Her planet’s gone. She didn’t really like to talk about it, but...” He watches his fellow survivors geek out with the ag tech about sustainable irrigation techniques for a while, and Curtis watches him. “I think... I think she was on the same prison ship I was. I don’t really remember much about it but she wasn’t on the rebel crew so she must have been...”

 

The words _prison ship_ stick in Curtis’ mind like thorns. But this isn’t the time or the place to press that issue.

 

“So,” he says, hoping Adam doesn’t notice his voice half-catching in his throat. “Did you have coffee there, or no?”

 

That gets a little laugh out of Adam, much to Curtis’ relief. “No, and I would fight someone in the street for a cup right now.”

 

“That won’t be necessary. Come on.”

 

* * *

 

They’ve been underway long enough that the galley might still have some real coffee left, but Curtis isn’t willing to bet on it. Especially when there’s a guy who’s been deprived of it for literal _years_ in the equation.

 

Maybe this isn’t the most appropriate thing to do, but there is one place where Curtis is 100% sure he can get Adam a cup of real Earth coffee, and that place is his own cabin.

 

And anyway, Iverson hasn’t gotten back to him on where they’re putting Adam, and he’s starting to look a little stressed out. Well, he’s been living rough in the middle of nowhere all this time, all the lights and noises and people are probably starting to get to him, and Curtis can guarantee that his cabin will be relatively quiet.

 

So he lets Adam in and pops a pod into the coffee maker, and Adam just puts his bag down and sort of flops face-first onto the couch. “Mmph.”

 

“I hear you. Still like it the same way?”

 

“Mhm.” Adam nods, face still smushed into a cushion. Then he turns his head just enough to talk like a human person. “I haven’t had any since the last time you made it for me.”

 

Curtis freezes in place, staring at the coffee dribbling into the mug, barely seeing it. That’s right. The morning of the invasion, when he came home from the gym to shower and get dressed and make them breakfast... and then he kissed Adam goodbye and walked out the door and went to work and the next time he heard Adam’s voice, he was--

 

The machine burbles a few more droplets of coffee into the mug and gasps out a last little puff of steam. Curtis shakes his head and doctors the coffee with two pods of creamer and one packet of sugar and hopes Adam doesn’t notice his hands shaking while he does it. _He’s okay,_ Curtis reminds himself. _He’s right here. He’s alive. He’s okay._

 

“What about you?” Adam asks him. “Still like all the cream and--”

 

“--all the sugar, yeah. Takashi still gives me a hard time about that.” Curtis turns to hand Adam his coffee, and the look on Adam’s face gives him a bit of pause.

 

But Adam shakes it off and accepts the mug. “Sorry, that just kind of caught me off guard. You always called him ‘Shiro’ before.” 

 

“Oh.” Curtis scratches nervously at the back of his head. “ I uh--I didn’t even think about--”

 

“No. Curtis. It’s fine.” Adam takes one little sip of his coffee while Curtis starts his own cup going. “He’s your husband, of course you’re--it’s okay. Really. Just kind of threw me, is all.” He takes another tiny sip, slow and deliberate. He’s trying to be cool about this. Curtis knows him well enough to know when he’s trying to be cool about something he is in no way feeling cool about, and it comes as absolutely no surprise when Adam dispenses with those little sips and just grabs the mug with both hands and proceeds to chug, coming up for air just long enough to gasp “oh _shit,_ that’s good” before diving back in.

 

“Want a refill?” Curtis asks him gently when he’s done.

 

“God. _Please.”_

 

Curtis takes the cup back, lets the machine do its thing, and adds cream and sugar. Adam doesn’t chug this one in one breath, so Curtis loads his own coffee down with cream and sugar and a squirt of chocolate syrup. Man. It’s too bad he doesn’t have any black licorice lying around--wait. Yes, he does, kind of. He goes into the bag from the candy store and finds that little pack of nasty licorice-flavored things. God, just a couple of days ago he’d bought these with the intention of leaving them at the wall and now... “Hey, I found these at the Space Mall. You’ll probably like them.”

 

“I’m sorry, did you say... ‘Space Mall?’” Adam gives him a weird look, but takes the little packet and tears it open. He’s clearly not sure about these things. They look way too bright and cheerful to taste as awful as they do, but he pops one into his mouth and chews on it a little... and his face lights up like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. _“Mmmph--”_ He eats a few more in rapid succession. “Let’s hear it for the Space Mall, oh my God I missed this shit. ...wait. You _hate_ this shit. Why’d you get it?” 

 

“Uh...” Oh, this is uncomfortable but Curtis figures the best thing to do here is to be honest about it. “There’s uh... there’s a memorial wall thing. We still leave stuff there sometimes. Y’know. For you.”

 

“Still?” That weird, wistful look crosses Adam’s face again. “It’s been a long time.” 

 

Curtis shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. You’re still important to us.”

 

Adam eats a couple more licorice things in silence, then he rolls the pack closed and tucks it into his pocket. Then he peers into the candy store sack and takes out a bag of the Comet Crunchies. “Oh wow. We had these on the rebel ship. ...different flavor, maybe? The ones we had didn’t have the, uh... words on fire.”

 

“Yeah?” Curtis thinks about opening up a bag, but... no, not with extra-sweet coffee with chocolate syrup in it. “What flavor were yours?”

 

“I don’t know, I can’t read whatever this says but...”  Adam frowns a little, turning the bag over. “Orange bag, and they were kind of salty, like soy sauce-kind-of-salty with some flavor to it, kind of sweet and spicy and they were covered in this brown powdery stuff but... _neon_ brown if that makes any sense?”

 

“Okay. Yeah.” Curtis nods and turns the bag over. “Bi-Boh-Que. Yeah, those are okay but me and Takashi both love these.” He taps the little caricature of an alien with its tongue on fire on the back of the bag. “Heat Death of Your Tastebuds, I think is the literal translation?”

 

Adam just laughs and shakes his head. “So he can do spicy stuff again.”

 

“Can,” Curtis says, tucking the Comet Crunchies back into the bag, “and _does._ We had to start getting the huge bottle of Cholula. He puts it on _everything_ now.”

 

Adam ponders that for a moment. “Yeah. That sounds about right. Curtis...” He puts his cup down. “I just want to know one thing.”

 

 _Uh-oh,_ Curtis thinks.

 

“Sure,” Curtis says. “Anything.”

 

Adam is quiet for a moment. “What the _fuck_ were his parents doing at your wedding?”

 

Whatever awkward question Curtis might have been expecting... this wasn’t it. It wasn’t even close. He rolls his eyes and makes a noise like a deflating balloon, and Adam busts out laughing. “Yeah, that was... that was something.”

 

“You _know_ how they treated him!”

 

“I know!” Curtis throws up his hands. “I didn’t invite them! _He_ did! He hid the invitation in his class stuff and he mailed it himself! And he didn’t even think they’d show, he just thought--God, don’t tell him I told you about this--”

 

“Not a word.”

 

“He didn’t even want them to come. He just...” Curtis drops his head into his hands. “He wanted it to be over. He thought that’d be it. They’d get the invitation and they’d finally understand that he wasn’t going to just magically stop being gay or whatever they wanted to think he was going to do and they’d just disown him and get it over with.”

 

A weird, wide grin spreads across Adam’s face. “But they came.”

 

 _“They fucking came!”_ Curtis splutters helplessly, and immediately he feels his ears and cheeks heat up. Adam clamps a hand over his mouth just in time to keep from spraying coffee all over Curtis’ cabin and makes a kind of alarming choking noise, just like he used to on so many of those rare occasions Curtis got worked up enough to drop a tactical F-bomb. “I still can’t believe they actually came! I didn’t want him to send them an invitation at all, we _argued_ about that, I thought they were just going to just leave him hanging like they always did--”

 

“But they showed up.” Adam shakes his head. “Did they start any shit with you, or did they actually behave?”

 

“They, uh... a little of both, kind of?”  Curtis snickers a little. “They came up to him at the reception, they were being nice to him, he says they actually apologized to him but they said a few things right in front of me they might not have if--and then I told them I speak Japanese and I understood every word they were saying, God, Adam, their _faces_ \--”

 

“Oh shit!” Adam wheezes. “And let me guess, you were _really polite_ about it--”

 

“I was extremely polite about it, thank you very much. And then, _then_ they did that ‘so where are you really from, like originally, okay _you_ were born in Texas but where is your _family_ from' thing with me--”

 

Adam’s jaw drops. “Oh _hell_ no!”

 

“Anyway, long story short--” Curtis feels like he shouldn’t be babbling about _any_ of this to Adam--God, it’s a little scary, how he’s slipped right back into feeling so at ease with him so soon. It’s almost like he was never gone. “They tolerate me because Takashi told them he’s not going to put up with them being nasty to me but now they’re giving him crap about kids, so... business as usual?”

 

“Boy.” Adam rolls his eyes and sets his empty mug on the table. “So other than Takashi’s shitty parents still being their lovable old shitty selves, how are _you_ doing? How’s your family?”

 

“Mostly okay but, uh...” Curtis clears his throat. “We lost some. A couple of my cousins and, um... my little brother.” 

 

“Oh God. I’m sorry.” Adam lays a hand on Curtis’ shoulder. “...wait. Which little brother? Not _David--”_ Curtis nods, and some kind of noise comes out of Adam, horror and disbelief. “He was just a baby! Don’t tell me someone was actually stupid enough to send his unit out to _fight_ them!”

 

Curtis still hates talking about this, in no small part because there are so many similarities in what happened to Adam and what happened to his brother, and he decides it’d be best to keep the details to a minimum right now. He puts his mug down and stares at the floor for a bit. “They had their own version of Sanda, I guess. He knew what was going to happen and... he decided he knew better and he did it anyway.” He shrugs. “At least _he_ survived and he answered for it. Lots of evidence against him, lots of families out for a piece of him and he paid for what he did but...”

 

“But it doesn’t bring your brother back.”

 

Curtis just shakes his head, and Adam squeezes his shoulder, and neither one of them can say anything else about that.

 

“We need to tell Takashi,” Curtis finally says, and he sees Adam flinch a little out of the corner of his eye. “If you’re not ready it’s okay, or if you just want _me_ to tell him I can, but he’s going to be there when we land and we kind of need to give him a heads-up.”

 

“Shit. Right.” Adam swallows hard. “Okay. Can we... can we just do it now?”

 

“Um...” Curtis checks the time. It might be Takashi’s off period, unless they’re doing sim runs today in which case he’ll be doing that instead, but it’s worth a try. “Yeah... I think we could get hold of him right now, if you really want to.” 

 

* * *

 

They should probably do this over video, Curtis figures, because Takashi is not going to believe this unless he sees it. And that requires them to call on an official channel, and the only remotely private place to do _that_ is the situation room. Fortunately, there’s not a lot of battle planning going on these days so it’s free. Just to be on the safe side, Curtis gives Iverson a heads-up. 

 

Just to be on the safer side, he does that via text because he has the worst feeling that Iverson’s voice is the last thing Adam wants to hear right now, especially after the conversation they just had.

 

There’s a bit of a labyrinth of automated systems and gatekeepers Curtis has to navigate in order to get connected to Takashi’s office, but by now it’s all second nature. He knows exactly what extension he needs, and exactly what to say to convince whatever aide he gets to transfer him instead of just taking down a message. And once he gets through to Takashi’s office _his_ aide recognizes Curtis right away, knows he’s out with the _Atlas,_ and knows he wouldn’t be calling on an official channel during school hours if it wasn’t important. 

 

The point gets across and the aide puts Curtis on hold to page Takashi to his office. It _is_ a sim day, and Takashi _is_ in the sim bay with a class of cadets right now, and Curtis knows he’d rather not bail on that but he can be persuaded to easily enough if his aide drops the right words, words like _husband_ and _urgent._

 

It takes a few minutes, but when Takashi picks up the comm he looks a little sweaty and sounds a little out of breath, like he ran all the way to his office, and Curtis kind of feels bad because he probably _did_ run all the way to his office, and he feels even worse because Takashi looks so worried.

 

“Are you okay?” Takashi asks before Curtis can get a single word out. “What happened?”

 

“I’m--” Curtis steals a glance at Adam, waiting out of frame for Curtis to set up a bit of a cushion. He’s turned away from Curtis’ screen, shoulders trembling, and Curtis just wants to reach over and wrap an arm around him. “I’m fine. It’s okay. I’m okay. We just--remember how I told you I’d call you if--”

 

“Oh shit.” Takashi goes a little pale. “It _was_ a trap, wasn’t it? But everyone’s okay, right? Who was it? Pirates, or--”

 

“No, it--nothing like that, it was just--” God. All the way over here, Curtis mentally rehearsed what he was going to say and now it’s gone. It’s just _gone._ He shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath, and tries to gather his thoughts again. “It wasn’t a trap,” he starts. “It was a rebel ship that crashed a few years ago, a transport ship, they were carrying a bunch of people they broke out of one of Sendak’s prison ships. That distress signal was--Takashi, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to say anything until we knew for sure, but--” He stops there and shakes his head. 

 

No. This isn’t the way to do this. He’s not making this any easier for any of them, dragging things out like this. 

 

So Curtis just scoots his chair over and beckons Adam to come sit next to him.

 

It’s the same way with Takashi. There’s no confusion, no doubt in his face as to who he’s seeing, just a short sharp choking gasp and tears shining in his eyes. _“Adam...”_

 

Adam tries to stay cool about this, because of course he does, but he opens his mouth to say _hi_ or _you look good_ or whatever he thinks he’s going to say and instead he bursts into tears. “I’m sorry!” he blurts out, face buried in his hands, and Curtis rubs his back to try and settle him down. _“I’m sorry,_ I’m so sorry, all that stuff I said, the way I left, I should have--”

 

“H-hey! No!” Takashi splutters out a little helpless laugh. “Adam, don’t. It’s okay, it’s--I don’t--I never-- _it’s okay._ Don’t be sorry. I’m just--I’m just glad you’re all right! ... _are_ you all right?”

 

“I’ve been worse?” Adam sniffles. “I, uh... I like your hair.”

 

 _“Shit,”_ Takashi wheezes, and that almost sets Curtis off. “That’s... that’s a long story.”

 

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Keith told him _everything,”_ Curtis informs him, one eyebrow raised. “Including the ‘literally died’ part.” 

 

Takashi hisses in a breath through his teeth. “How much trouble am I in?”

 

“All of it,” Adam says, and he’s trying to sound stern but he can’t keep a straight face and the last word comes out with a little bubble of laughter. “But I _need_ to hear about this arm-wrestling tournament. Later. When you’re not in the middle of a class.”

 

“Oh. Shit. Right.” Takashi puffs out a sheepish laugh. “I forgot all about that, I--God, Adam, there’s so much I want to tell you--”

 

Adam just nods and rubs the back of his hand across his eye. “I know. Me too. But go take care of your kids, okay? We’ll talk when I get back.”

 

Curtis feels a buzz at his wrist, checks his watch, and sees a text from Iverson--oh, good. “Yeah... sorry about pulling you out of there like this, but we just wanted to, um... let you know what was going on and we figured we better do it on video so you’d... I just thought this wasn’t something we wanted to spring on you out of nowhere when we landed, y’know?”

 

“Yeah. I appreciate that, that would have been, uh...” Takashi runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Adam? You want me to call your parents and let them know what’s up, or...?”

 

“Um...” Adam thinks about that for a second, then nods. “Could you?”

 

“Of course.” He’s quiet for a moment. They all are. “It’s really good to see you,” Takashi finally says, and Curtis sees that weird wistful look flash across Adam’s face again. 

 

“You too,” Adam says.

 

“Call me when you get home?” Curtis asks, and Takashi nods. 

 

“I will. Love you.”

 

“Love you too.”

 

They disconnect, and Curtis and Adam both sit there for a long time, staring at the blank screen.

 

“This is a lot to deal with,” Adam says, and Curtis can’t help but snort out a little laugh. “For you and Takashi too. I’m sorry.”

 

“Hey, now.” Curtis shakes his head. “Don’t start that with me, either.” 

 

“I don’t want to...” Adam pauses there. Like he’s not sure how to finish that sentence without opening a can of worms. “I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

 

“What are you talking about? You won’t cause any trouble.” Curtis wraps an arm around Adam’s shoulders. “Do you have any idea how much we both missed you?” Adam doesn’t answer that, but he huffs out a little sigh and starts to lean his head towards Curtis’ shoulder--but then he stops and shakes his head, as if he thinks he’s caught himself doing something wrong.

 

Curtis decides to let that go without comment. “Hey,” he says instead. “They’ve got your cabin ready. C’mon. You look beat.”

 

* * *

 

Most of the survivors on board are sleeping two and three to a cabin but since Adam is still a senior officer, he gets his own. He has to share the bathroom with someone, but he’s fine with that.

 

“Look, just having a flush toilet and a hot shower attached to my room is the lap of luxury,” he says as he plops down on the bed and tugs his boots off. “This is great. Really.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Curtis laughs. “Need anything else?”

 

“No. Thanks.” Adam flops back onto the mattress. “I just want to turn the lights off and like--try to decompress for a while. All the noise and the people and stuff, y’know. ...wait. Shit. Did Keith take off yet, or--” 

 

“No, did you need him for something?”

 

Adam shakes his head and closes his eyes-- _eye._ “Just wanted to make sure I didn't miss him.”

 

“Don’t worry.” Curtis pats Adam’s foot. “He's coming home with us. Go ahead and get some rest. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

Curtis’ cabin is right down the hall from Adam’s, even closer than their dorm rooms were before they moved in together. But this time, the walk feels like a marathon.

 

With Adam out of his sight, none of this feels real. He looks at a bit of signage on the wall, looks away for a moment, and looks back. It still says the same thing. The letters haven’t rearranged themselves. He’s not dreaming. It’s real.

 

_God._

 

He finally gets back to his cabin, mashes the panel to open the door, steps in, and flops onto the couch in a daze. He’s been running on adrenaline ever since he first heard Adam’s voice in medbay and now...

 

His phone rings then, and he fumbles it out of his pocket and hits the speaker button. “Hey, babe.”

 

“Hey, Curtiepie.”

 

That’s all either of them can say for a while. It’s okay. There’s nothing awkward in that silence. They do this a lot--even when neither of them is talking, there’s still that sense of being together, of sharing that little bit of time. 

 

“This is wild,” Curtis finally says, and Takashi sputters out a little laugh. “Did you get hold of A.J. and Judy, or--”

 

“Not yet.” Takashi lets out a long, shaky breath. “I needed to hear your voice again first.” He’s quiet for a minute. “He was on a prison ship.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“They didn’t--” Curtis hears Takashi choke on whatever he tries to say next, and he wishes they were in the same room so he could throw his arms around Takashi’s shoulders. “They didn’t make him fight, did they?”

 

The question hits Curtis like a boot in his stomach. He understands what must be going through Takashi’s mind right now and he understands why, and he desperately wishes it wasn’t a possibility either of them would ever have a reason to consider.

 

“No,” he says. “I don’t think so.” Curtis doesn’t want to think about what they might have done to him instead, about where all those burn scars came from, about what other scars might be hidden under his clothing, about how he lost his eye. “He says he doesn’t remember much of what they _did_ do to him but... no. Not that, at least.”

 

“Good.” He hears Takashi let out another shaky sigh. “How’s he holding up with all this?”

 

“He seems pretty okay.” He knows Takashi can’t see him, but he shrugs a little anyway. “The lights and noise and stuff were kind of starting to get to him, he was getting a little stressed out by the time they got him a cabin but...” Curtis’ foot catches on something under the couch, and he picks his head up to see what it is. “Crap, he left his bag in here. I’ll take it to him in the morning, I don’t want to bother him.” He carefully sets it on the other end of the couch in case there’s anything fragile in there. It feels light. Clearly, he didn’t bring much with him. “Are _you_ okay?”

 

“Yeah.” Takashi makes a little noise that might be a nervous laugh. “Just... yeah. Are you?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

There’s another one of those long silences, but this one feels different. Like there’s something hanging in the air between them. Curtis isn’t sure what it is. He can sort of feel around it, but... Takashi is the one to finally put words to it.

 

“Listen,” he says. “You were--I know you said you weren’t talking about getting married yet but when he disappeared you were still--I’m just saying, I’d understand if you want to--”

 

“Oh no. No.” Curtis remembers being on the other end of a conversation just like this one with Adam before the invasion and he feels his heart break a little. “ _No,_ honey. Absolutely not.” He huffs out a sigh and flops an arm over his eyes. “I said I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. I meant it. I love you. _I’m yours._ ” 

 

Takashi lets out another sigh. “I’m sorry. That... that wasn’t fair. I shouldn’t have said that.”

 

“No, I mean--” Curtis chokes out a little laugh. “I get why you might be worried about that but... _no._ This isn’t going to change anything with us.”

 

“Okay. _Okay._ I believe you.” Takashi is quiet for a moment, but somehow Curtis can hear the little crooked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Y’know... when I said ‘surprise me’ I didn’t mean--”

 

“Oh _shit!”_ Curtis wheezes, and that just sets Takashi off laughing the way he always does when Curtis gets flustered enough to swear. All right. If they’re able to laugh about this, this soon... they’re okay. “I was just going to bring you some Comet Crunchies but--”

 

“Oh hell yeah, bring me the Comet Crunchies too.” Yeah. They’re okay. “All right. I need to call A.J. and Judy. God, they’re going to lose it. Or they’re going to think _I’ve_ lost it. Or both. But--yeah.” Takashi is quiet for a moment. “I love you so much.”

 

No matter how many times Curtis hears that, it still gives him the warm-and-flutteries. “How much?”

 

“I’ll show you when you get home.” There’s a long pause. “...if you tell me what you’re wearing right now.”

 

Curtis thinks about that for a moment. Well... he’s been sitting on that one response for months, waiting for just the right moment to spring it, waiting for a day when they both desperately need an industrial-strength bit of comic relief and if this isn’t that day, he doesn’t know what that day would be. So Curtis closes his eyes, takes a deep breath in through his nose, and replies:

 

“Crotchless jorts.”

 

It takes three full minutes for Takashi to form a single coherent word after that.

 

Yeah. They’re definitely okay.

 

* * *

 

Curtis doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep but in the end, the mental and emotional exhaustion of the day wins out.

 

He still wakes up long before his alarm goes off. He’s a little disoriented, remembering bits and pieces of the previous day, still not sure any of it really happened until he turns on the light and sees Adam’s canvas backpack still sitting on his couch. It’s early, but... well, he can take it by on his way to the bridge. He’s tempted to skip the training deck,  but what else is he going to do this early? He can’t go back to sleep.

 

It’s hard for him to concentrate on his workout. He settles for running on the treadmill for the whole hour and a half, that doesn’t require him to pay too much attention to anything other than where his feet are.

 

He thinks about the scars Takashi was so worried about letting him see. About how Takashi said he would tell his therapist but he would never, ever tell Curtis exactly where those came from, because he didn’t want Curtis to have to carry those images around in his head. But Curtis could make an educated guess even if his brain didn’t occasionally try and fill in the blanks while he sleeps, and the thought always makes him feel sick. And they might have done the same things to _Adam..._

 

He wonders if maybe in the long run, a few years on a quiet and relatively safe planet might have actually been good for him. Adam seems to be fairly okay. Maybe a little overstimulated by all the lights and noise and people, and that’s understandable. But he seems to be coping pretty well. He’s happy to see familiar faces and excited about finally getting to go home and eager to get back to work doing whatever the Garrison will let him do now. 

 

Curtis is just about to finish up and hop off the treadmill when Veronica and Acxa come in, hand in hand. Veronica looks around a little, and then she notices Curtis and he can practically hear the lock-on alert in his head. 

 

Uh-oh. He forgot to tell her. But she’s clearly heard the news anyway.

 

“Curtis!” Sure enough, she makes a beeline right for him. She doesn’t look mad, at least. “Is he okay? Where is he? Does Shiro know? Can I see him? _Is he okay?”_

 

Curtis holds up both hands. “Whoa. Slow down. Hey, Acxa.”

 

“Hello.” 

 

He’d hug her but Acxa doesn’t hug anyone except Veronica, and Curtis respects that, and Veronica has told him she appreciates it. “Okay. In order: he’s okay. He’s in his cabin, it’s right down the hall from mine. Yes, we told him. It’s barely six in the morning and it’s Adam so... I wouldn’t right now if I were you? And yes, again, _he’s okay._ Did you give Acxa her giant stuffed whatever?”

 

“Yeah, I--”

 

“It’s a mojipon,” Acxa says, and there’s a shine in her eyes and a little quiver in her lower lip that Curtis has never seen. _“I love it.”_

 

Veronica wraps an arm around Acxa, and Acxa lays her head on Veronica’s shoulder. “And she gave me a bunch of really nice fancy soap and stuff from Adam’s colony and-- _hey!”_ She shakes her head. “Don’t change the subject! This is _crazy,_ Curtis!”

 

Curtis throws up his hands. “I know!”

 

“So...” Veronica makes a face. It’s the face she makes when she wants to be blunt as hell about something but at least wants to put forth the appearance of sugar-coating it. “Are we going to talk about the elephant in the room, or nah?”

 

“What elephant in the room?”

 

“You know... you and Shiro?” Blunt-as-Hell-Yet-Lightly-Sugar-Coated Face intensifies, and Curtis finds himself involuntarily backing up half a step. “This isn’t going to make stuff _...weird,_ is it?”

 

 _Oh._  

 

“No! Of course not!” Curtis shakes his head. “We’ve already talked about that. We’re okay. It’s not going to make stuff weird. Everyone’s okay.”

 

Veronica looks like she wants to say something else to that, but in the end she decides not to. “Okay. See you on the bridge.”

 

* * *

 

It’s still a little early when Curtis gets out of the shower and puts his uniform on, but he figures he can knock on Adam’s door and drop off his bag, and maybe see if he’s awake enough to want some breakfast. They haven’t assigned him anything to do yet and they probably won’t until he’s back on Earth and even then, they’ll probably give him a few weeks off before they expect him to start working again. So sure. It’s still early and Adam doesn’t _have_ to get up, but Curtis figures he should ask anyway.

 

So he knocks. “Adam?” he calls through the closed door, “You awake? Hey, you forgot your bag--”

 

Adam opens the door almost immediately, hastily tugging his eyepatch into place, and Curtis starts to make some little crack about him being a morning person now. It dies on his lips when he sees the state Adam is in.

 

Cold sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. An alarming grayish-green cast to his face. His eye doesn’t seem to be focusing on anything. His breath is shallow and ragged. His hand trembles as it drops back to his side.

 

Curtis knows exactly what’s happening. He’s seen it enough times. Not with Adam in a long time, not since they lost the Kerberos crew, and he can’t imagine what might have set it off this time. But he knows exactly what’s happening. 

 

“What’s wrong?” Curtis asks him gently. “What happened?”

 

Adam shakes his head, tries to handwave it off, tries to act casual but it’s not working. 

 

“Okay.” Curtis slips into his cabin, shuts the door, and steers him towards the couch. “Sit down.” He sets the bag on the floor and lays a hand on Adam’s back. “Slow deep breaths. There you go.”

 

It takes a while, but eventually his breathing evens out and his shoulders relax. “Sorry,” Adam says, and Curtis pats his back. “It’s uh... it’s been a while since you’ve had to do that, I guess.”

 

“It’s okay.” It hasn’t been nearly as long as Adam thinks. Takashi has come a long way but even now, Curtis still has to coach him down from the occasional panic attack. “Bad dreams?”

 

“No, it’s--” Adam shakes his head and laughs a little, dry and humorless. “It’s stupid. It’s nothing.”

 

Curtis raises an eyebrow. “Obviously it’s not ‘nothing’ if it’s freaking you out this bad.”

 

It’s always taken some gentle prodding to get Adam to open up about the things that upset him, but he knows he’s not going to be let off the hook that easily. He sits back and lets out a shaky breath. “Guy I'm sharing the bathroom with has a red alert siren for his wakeup alarm and it--it brought some stuff back, I guess--from the crash or getting shot down or something, it just--it’s okay. I asked him to change it and he said he would so it’s okay.” He laughs again. It sounds forced. “It’s just a stupid alarm clock. It’s a dumb thing to freak out about.”

 

“No.” Curtis pats his back again. This, he can understand. He doesn’t have full-blown panic attacks like this, or like the ones Takashi sometimes still has, but once in a while something will drag up a memory that makes his palms sweat and his blood run cold. Sounds, mostly. Sometimes it’s a smell or a combination of words. Or like before, when Adam reminded him about the last morning they woke up in their apartment together. “No, it’s not. Not after everything you’ve been through.”

 

Adam opens his mouth to say something else, shakes his head again, and huffs out a breath. “I don’t get it. This never happened on the colony. I mean, I had nightmares sometimes but--not _this.”_  

 

“Huh.” Curtis squeezes his shoulder. “Well... it was quiet out there, you probably didn’t hear any noises like that and you had lots of other stuff to keep your mind on so...”

 

Adam thinks about that for a minute. “...well, _shit,”_ he finally groans, and Curtis has a good idea what’s just hit him--the possibility that there are other triggers even he doesn’t know he has yet, and that they will hit him in the worst possible times and places. Knowing him, he’s probably already trying to run a mental checklist.

 

“Okay.” When they get back and everything settles down, Curtis will need to gently sit Adam down and talk to him about maybe seeing that therapist at the Garrison, but at least he can help run damage control for now. “How about this. Instead of sitting here freaking yourself out over what you _might_ freak out about...” Adam sputters out another dry laugh, but at least this one sounds like it has a little more of his heart in it. “Maybe think about the stuff that’ll make you happy. All the stuff you missed.”

 

Adam frowns a little. “I never really thought much about it after the first couple of days,” he says. “I didn’t think I’d ever see Earth again, no point in it.”

 

“Well, now you’re going to see Earth again, so...” Curtis raises an eyebrow. “You missed coffee. And you missed that nasty black stuff--”

 

“Oh, here we go--” Adam rolls his eye. “I did miss it.” A little smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I missed snow. It snowed a little where we were but it didn’t _snow,_ y’know?”

 

“I got you. What else?”

 

“Washers and dryers.” 

 

“Oh _yeah._ Now we’re getting to the good stuff.” Curtis cracks a little bit of a grin. “Toilet paper?” he prompts, and Adam busts out laughing and nods.

 

“Yes!” He settles down and thinks a bit. “Your chicken fajitas.”

 

“I’ll make them for you when we get home,” Curtis offers. “...maybe not the first day, they have to--”

 

“I know,” Adam sighs. “They gotta marinate.”

 

“Yeah. But you’re still coming home with us for dinner, and don’t argue with me.”

 

“Oh no,” Adam deadpans. “Please, no. Not your god-tier cooking. Anything but that.”

 

“Well... first night home from a mission is actually... not my cooking? Oh, that reminds me, I need to tell Takashi to get a steak for you too but he’s probably already planning on it so--”

 

“Aw.” Adam chuckles a little. “He has steak delivered for you when you get home, that’s sweet.”

 

“No.” Curtis grins a little, because he knows that what he’s about to say is going to blow Adam’s mind. “He grills it.” 

 

“He grills it,” Adam repeats, with the weirdest blankest stare. “As in... he takes raw meat. And he puts it on a grill. Over fire. And... and it’s still edible when he’s done with it?”

 

“It’s not just edible. It’s _great.”_

 

“You’re shitting me,” Adam says, and Curtis shrugs. “He learned how to _cook!?”_

 

“Well... it’s kind of a work in progress? But he can do soup and casseroles and stuff now and it turns out he’s actually _really_ good at grilling.”

 

“Curtis!” Adam looks vaguely horrified. “He is literally the reason why they started enforcing the ‘no appliances in the dorm’ rule, and you let him play with meat and actual _fire_ without adult supervision!? You are _extremely_ shitting me!”

 

“No! I’m not!” Curtis laughs and holds up his hands. This is fine. As long as it’s leading Adam’s mind away from the panic, it’s fine. “He’s really--okay, he’s still not allowed to deep-fry anything after _The Incident,_ but--” 

 

“Right. Okay. That, I believe.” There’s a look on his face that’s something like awe. He sits there a while in silence. The panic seems to have left him, at least for now. “I knew you’d be good for him, but _damn.”_  

 

Curtis starts to say something to that, he’s not really sure what, but his watch buzzes gently on his wrist. He’s entirely missed his window of opportunity for breakfast. And that’s okay. Where did the time go, though? “I gotta go to work. Are you going to be okay?”

 

“I think so, yeah.” Adam nods, and Curtis believes him. He sounds okay. He looks okay. “I might go check out your training deck in a little while. Want to meet up for lunch or something?”

 

“Sure.” Curtis laughs a little. “Veronica’s dying to see you too. I’m surprised she hasn’t already kicked your door in.”

 

He doesn’t want to leave, and that worries him a little. 

 

Then again, he thinks while he’s riding the lift to the bridge, it’s perfectly understandable. Of course he wants to hang out with Adam. After everything that’s happened, of course he does. It’s absolutely normal and Adam is obviously okay with their current relationship situation (and why wouldn’t he be okay with it, he _engineered_ their current relationship situation after all) and they were best friends long before they were lovers and there’s no reason why a couple of good friends can’t spend some time together, especially when they haven’t seen each other in five years and they were separated by circumstances like _that._

 

 _This isn’t going to change anything between us_ , Curtis had said to Takashi, and he meant that.

 

* * *

 

When lunchtime comes around Curtis goes by Adam’s cabin and knocks on the door. There’s no answer. Either he’s not there, or he’s still asleep, or he’s just enjoying that hot shower. Well, he can try again later. 

 

He checks his phone and finds one text from Takashi: _brain train about to jump the tracks. All of that yesterday really did happen, right?_

 

Curtis runs a hand through his hair. _God._

 

 _It really happened,_ he texts back. _I thought the same thing this morning, fwiw._

 

He goes on to the galley and finds Adam there, at a table with Keith and Veronica and Acxa and the MFE pilots, telling them all about the colony. He looks fine. A little tired, but he’s had a wild couple of days and to be fair Curtis probably looks a little tired too. 

 

His phone pings again. _You off already?_

 

 _Lunch,_ Curtis texts back. _While I have you--unless anything else crazy comes up we’ll be coming in Tue or Wed afternoon last I heard. How’d AJ & J take it?  _

 

He grabs a tray, and Keith scoots over to let him sit, and Adam flashes him a grin and goes back to his story. 

 

“...and me and like five other people were going ‘yes, okay, bareback is a thing but you still need a bridle, you still need reins’ and Yohnn was just like ‘no, no, we had animals like this back home, you just get on and as long as you’re calm and gentle with them they’ll do whatever, they’ll just know--’”

 

Curtis knows enough about horses to know this can’t be going anywhere good. Well--Adam’s probably not talking about _horses,_ but... horselike critters? Horse-adjacent? Whatever. Curtis puts his fork down--probably shouldn’t have his mouth full anytime soon, not if this is going where he thinks it is... and while he’s bracing for a punchline he checks his phone again.

 

_It def took all of us on a feels trip. They want to come down, I’ll tell them._

 

“Oh hey," Curtis says. "Not to butt in, but Takashi got hold of your parents.”

 

Adam heaves a little sigh of relief. “Oh, good. Tell him thanks for me?”

 

“Sure.” It feels a little weird--listening to Adam talking in person while he’s carrying on a conversation with Takashi over text. “Okay. Continue.”

 

“Right--and I was like ‘yeah, _we_ have animals like this back home too, my grandparents had them, I grew up riding them and trust me _you need a damn bridle'_  but he wouldn’t listen so--” Adam shakes his head and fights back laughter, and Curtis can’t help snickering too. “So he got on the roadbeast and he sat down and he was like ‘see, I told you, you just have to--’ and next thing we knew he was _flying_ over her head, right over the fence and face first into the compost heap--”

 

Everyone at the table loses it. The story even gets a rare laugh out of Acxa, even if she does hide it behind her hands. And then just as everyone is starting to settle down Curtis snorts and that just sets them off all over again--especially Adam.

 

“So _,_ ” Adam goes on when he finally catches his breath, wiping his eye with his napkin, “God, Curtis, you have no idea how much I missed you snort-laughing at my stupid stories--he was fine but he was covered in...” He shakes his head. “I’m not gonna say at the table but a compost heap on a farm, you can guess, right? So he ran all the way to the lake to wash off. And then Ollyx got that very roadbeast saddled up and rode her down to the lake nice as you please, and me and a couple others saddled up the other ones and went with him just to see what happened, and Ollyx asked Yohnn if he wanted a ride back and that’s how I learned about ten new alien swear words--”

 

The whole table cracks up again, and Curtis finds himself stealing a little glance at Adam. After everything that’s happened, it’s a relief to see him like this, relaxed and laughing and happy to be surrounded by his friends and excited to finally be on his way home. But then he remembers how Adam looked just a few short hours ago--sweating, shaking, and ashen-faced. 

 

 _He’s still doing OK then?_ Takashi texts. Like he’s reading Curtis’ mind from the other end of the universe. 

 

Curtis tries to keep the concern off his face and holds his phone under the table. _He is now. He had a panic attack this morning._

 

There’s a long pause.

 

_What happened?_

 

Ugh. Maybe he should have waited until their nightly voice call to tell him that, Curtis thinks. _I’ll tell you later. Too many people._

 

 _Gotcha,_ Takashi texts back.  _I’ll call you tonight, k?_

 

_ OK,  _ Curtis texts. _ Love you. ♥ _

 

 _Love you too_.

 

Curtis puts his phone away and goes back to listening to Adam’s stories, tries to focus on the present, tries not to think too much about that morning.

 

He’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody ever sees exactly what Slav is doing with all of the merch he gets, but he does keep one of each action figure or alien Funko Pop or whatever neatly and reverently displayed in his house. You know. For Science.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not that Shiro means to do what he does on the way to bed that night but the door to the guest room is open, just a crack, and the sliver of pale light his shoulder throws through the door lands on Adam just as Shiro glances that way. It hits him like a punch in the gut all over again. 
> 
> He’s alive. He’s okay. He’s home. 
> 
> Shiro stands there just outside the door, watching the slow rise and fall of Adam’s chest in the near-darkness for a lot longer than he really meant to. Long enough that when he feels Curtis’ arms slide around his waist from behind, his initial reaction is something like embarrassment. But Curtis doesn’t say anything. He just rests his chin on Shiro’s shoulder and watches Adam sleep too.
> 
> “This is really happening,” Shiro whispers. “He’s really here. Right here. In our house.”
> 
> Curtis nods, his chin gently digging into the tight muscle under it. “It’s really happening.”

The first day is always the hardest.

 

At least this time they launched in the afternoon, so Shiro got to spend most of the day with his husband. And tomorrow, he’ll go back to work and have plenty of things going on to keep him busy, at least until the weekend. But no matter how many times they do this, no matter how late in the day they launch, that first day of coming home to an empty house and that first night of going to sleep in an empty bed just  _ aches. _

 

_ You’re the one that wanted to go back to teaching,  _ Shiro reminds himself as he kicks off his shoes in the entry hall and flops down on the couch. That’s true. And there were good reasons for that. A long, long list of really good reasons. “Abducted by hostile aliens, experimented on, and forced to fight for their entertainment,” for one. “Watched a dear friend sacrifice herself to save everything that was, is, and ever will be in every reality from utter annihilation,” for another.

 

And then, of course, there’s “literally fucking died.” 

 

Of course he missed working with the kids, too. He missed seeing those little  _ aha  _ moments when they finally figure out something they’ve been struggling with. He missed seeing how excited they get the first time they nail a complicated sim mission or pull off a difficult maneuver. He missed watching these kids grow up into officers and he missed the pride he felt when he watched them graduate. 

 

But mostly, he was just  _ tired  _ and he was still kind of getting used to the idea of actually having a future. And now that he didn’t have to try and cram all the living he wanted to do into the few short years the doctors had given him, he just wanted to take a little time to step back and breathe. He thought it would be good for him. Curtis thought it would be good for him. Keith thought it would be good for him. His therapist thought it would be  _ great  _ for him. And it has been good for him. He knows that. He’s sleeping better than he has in years. He doesn’t have nightmares nearly as often, and when he does have them he’s getting better at waking himself up before they get to the worst parts. He still has flashbacks sometimes, still has panic attacks sometimes, but not the way he used to and he’s getting better at managing them when they do happen. He hasn’t felt this calm and clearheaded and  _ right  _ since... well, since before he got sick.

 

None of that makes coming home to this empty house any easier.

 

But he’s got his hobbies, and he’s got his friends, and it’s not like he and Curtis don’t talk while he’s out there. The first thing Curtis did when Shiro decided to take a break from space was run out and upgrade their phones to those new fancy quantum transponder ones so they could do that. And they do, every night. So at least Shiro gets to hear his voice, that’s something. And Keith calls him on the regular, too. Shiro gets the feeling Curtis gives him a heads-up when the  _ Atlas  _ is going to be out, so Keith will know to call home a little more often for the next couple of weeks.

 

He’s not really hungry yet, but he hauls himself up off the couch and pads to the kitchen and opens up the freezer anyway. In addition to the usual staples it’s packed with two weeks’ worth of home-cooked dinners, most of which just need to be dumped into the crockpot before Shiro goes to work and simmered all day. The ones that require any prep more complicated than that have detailed instructions printed out and taped to the containers. And then there’s the stash of empanadas. Some of them are stuffed with traditional fillings like beef and chicken and that sort of thing. Some of them are sweet, filled with fruit or  _ cajeta _ or Shiro’s favorite, peanut butter and bananas. And some of them are stuffed with leftovers and experiments--curries and casseroles and veggies and anything else Curtis can fold up in a pastry shell.

 

It’s not that Shiro can’t feed himself. Maybe the deep fryer is still strictly off limits (and, well, there’s a good reason for that) but he can actually handle making curry rice and casseroles and soups and stuff like that on his own now, and he’s getting  _ really  _ good at the kind of cooking that involves throwing meat on a grill over a fire outside. And even if he still couldn’t cook, he can afford delivery food every night while Curtis is gone. 

 

But this is one of their things. It’s Curtis’ way of taking a little bit of the sting out of the time they spend apart. It’s one of the reasons Shiro loves him so much. 

 

He closes the freezer and wanders back to the living room. And as it does, that picture on the mantel catches his eye. 

 

They found it while they were cleaning Adam’s classroom storage unit out, before they bought the house, before they were even officially engaged, and they knew right away they’d need to put it somewhere special. The positioning had always struck Shiro as a little odd, though. It was from a day trip to the Grand Canyon, a few days after he and Adam and Curtis and Veronica all graduated from the academy, and Shiro is certain he and Adam were officially dating at that point. But for some reason, in this picture Adam is standing behind and between Shiro and Curtis, one arm around each of their shoulders, pulling the three of them together. 

 

He still misses Adam. He still feels awful about the way their relationship ended. He’s learned from his mistakes, or at least he’s trying to and Curtis keeps assuring him he’s doing a good job of it, but sometimes Shiro just wishes he could go back in time and smack himself upside the head for being so goddamn stubborn.

 

And then he sees that picture of him and Curtis with Adam’s parents, in front of that statue that looks almost nothing like Adam other than the uniform and the glasses, and...  _ yikes. _ That statue is terrible and no matter how many times he looks at the picture it gets a little uncomfortable chuckle out of him, but... well, like Adam’s mom said, it was a nice gesture. She might have said it in a tone of voice that suggested a number of other things she wanted to say about it, none of them complimentary, but she said it.

 

Right... he needs to call her. Might as well do that today. 

 

The latest example of his new toy’s misbehavior is still sitting on the bed of the printer. It was meant to be the fuselage of an old F-16 fighter, the operative phrase here being “meant to be.” The bottom half-inch or so looks fine, but from there up it’s a Godawful curly mess. Lined up on the work table next to the 3D printer setup is an array of similar failed prints--fine at the bottom, then suddenly spaghetti. He’s tried every troubleshooting suggestion he can find on the various forums he pokes around on. He’s found a few posts from other people who had the exact same problem. And, as troubleshooting forum threads tend to, those posts have a handful of “me too” replies, then one “never mind I fixed it” post with no further details after which the topic is locked. It’s infuriating.

 

Luckily, Shiro knows an expert.

 

He pops the latest failure off the bed and lines it up with the rest, opens up his laptop, parks himself in the desk chair, starts another test print going, and calls Adam’s mom.

 

It rings twice before she picks up. “Takashi, hon! How are you?”

 

“Doing okay,” Shiro replies. “How about you?”

 

“We’re doing.” She sounds a little tired. She always does now. So does Adam’s dad. Adam was their only child, after all, and losing him hit them hard. Shiro has stayed in touch with them since the end of the war, and so has Curtis, but, well... they’re not Adam. “How’s that printer working out for you?”

 

Curtis had actually conspired with her on his anniversary present, because he wanted input from someone who knew what they were talking about, and it paid off. “That’s, uh... actually kind of why I called you.”

 

“Uh oh. What’s it doing?”

 

“Can I just go to video and show you?”

 

“Sure, hang on a sec--okay, go ahead.” 

 

She  _ looks  _ tired too. 

 

Shiro almost says something about that. He always almost says something about it, on the rare occasions they talk over video. Once or twice he actually has. It doesn’t help. So instead, he just pans the laptop’s camera over the row of failed prints on his workbench. “What do you make of that?”

 

“Ooh. Looks like a little clog in the nozzle.”

 

“Doubt it. I checked anyway, it’s clear and uh... ” He picks up the latest one and holds it closer to the camera. “You notice how they all start off fine and then--”

 

“Spaghetti. ...huh, so they do. And it does that every time? Right about that point?”

 

“Every time. Exact same point. You really need to see what it’s doing, it’s crazy.”

 

“Huh! Can you start me something running so--”

 

“Already going. It’ll be a couple minutes.” Shiro chuckles and watches the printer do its thing. “Watch, now that I’ve got you on the phone it won’t do it...”

 

Judy cackles a little at the thought of that. “Wouldn’t that just be something? So while we’re waiting... how’s that hubby of yours?”

 

“He’s good.” Shiro sighs a little. “Just got home from putting him on the  _ Atlas,  _ he’ll be gone for... about two weeks, he said.”

 

“Aw, hon. Oh! Send me the model you’re printing real quick, let me check something.”

 

“Okay... here you go. We’re thinking about coming up sometime after finals are done, by the way. We might come up for Stampede again, that was a lot of fun.”

 

“We’d like that. It gets kind of--oh, thanks, hon. It gets kind of lonely, now I am absolutely not trying to guilt trip you--” Shiro laughs at that, because he knows she wouldn’t do that. “But it’s always good to see you and Curtis. I know he’d be glad you’re still keeping in touch with us.” She’s quiet for a while. “We miss him, Takashi.”

 

“I know,” Shiro says, and he does know. So does Curtis. “We do too. Every day.”

 

“Hmm... well, this model looks fine to me so if it throws a fit we know it’s not that. ...you know, I still can’t believe they didn’t even  _ ask me  _ to do that statue--”

 

_ Oh shit, _ Shiro thinks as helpless laughter bubbles up out of his chest,  _ buckle up, here we go.  _ “It was, uh--it was nice of them, I guess? But--”

 

“It  _ was  _ very nice of them to do it. I know. Of course it was. And I guess I can see why they didn’t feel right about asking me to do it but good  _ grief,  _ did they even have a decent picture of him, or--”

 

The regular, rhythmic sound the 3D printer has been making all this time suddenly gives way to chaotic buzzing, and what started out as a nice neat perfect little cube is now being given the most horrifying clown wig as the machine goes berserk and starts spraying molten plastic willy-nilly all over the place. “There it goes!” Shiro yells; he resists the urge to dive for the power switch, and instead he just turns the laptop so Judy can see what it’s doing. 

 

“Oh--” She bursts out into horrified laughter. “Oh no! It’s just going--oh hon, turn it off!  _ Turn it off!  _ Oh my goodness, that’s  _ awful! _ ”

 

Shiro hits the switch, the combination of the printer’s antics and Judy’s reaction to them reducing him to wheezing and tears. “So, uh,” he says when he settles down a little, “you ever see anything like that?”

 

“As a matter of fact,” Judy starts, taking off her glasses to wipe her own streaming eyes, “I  _ have. _ Could be one of any number of things causing it, so let’s go into your config menu...”

 

It takes all of five minutes. There are some settings he needs to tweak, and there are some software updates he needs to download, and that’s it. It’s almost anticlimactic, after all the trouble he’s had with this thing, but he starts another test cube running and this time, it keeps on going just as it should.

 

They keep talking while they’re installing updates and letting the test print run. Adam’s dad has decided to go back to teaching in the fall, just because he can’t stand retirement anymore. It’s not that he sits in front of the TV all day or anything--no, he’s got plenty of hobbies of his own. But he needs a reason to leave the house, something that’ll require him to interact with other people. The ren faire is only once a year, maybe two or three times if he feels up to traveling, which he usually doesn’t. He hasn’t been to a powwow since Adam died. It’s not the same without him.

 

A.J. has always been pretty quiet and stoic (which just gave the wicked sense of humor Adam inherited from him that much more impact), but Shiro can tell this has been especially hard on him. Losing Adam was like losing a piece of his own heart.

 

Yeah... they definitely need to go up and visit soon.

 

* * *

 

The alarm still goes off at five the next morning.

 

Shiro still rolls out of bed and puts his coffee on. He still puts his gym clothes on and gets his bag and his uniform together and drinks his coffee and dumps one of those freezer meals into the crock pot and he’s still out the door by a quarter to six. He still gets his run in, he still does his lifting. Sometimes he still tries a yoga routine, but he feels kind of clumsy and weird and self-conscious about it without Curtis there to help coach him. He still takes his shower and gets dressed and heads for the Garrison, but he doesn’t stop at that diner for breakfast. It’s not the same when he goes there alone. So instead, he just goes to the chow hall.

 

Then he goes to work, and everything is pretty much business as usual until quitting time. Until he comes home to that empty house.

 

It gets a little easier after the first day. Never  _ easy.  _ He never really gets used to the only sounds in the house being the TV or the stereo and the 3D printer. But it doesn’t sting quite as much. 

 

He checks the mailbox. Some junk, the light bill, and a couple of belated anniversary cards. One is from Lance, and Shiro is a little surprised it got here as fast as it did. Altea hasn’t been on the intergalactic snail mail grid in ten thousand years and Earth is a new addition altogether. Packages are even slower, though Shiro can’t imagine any real reason why, all the mail goes on the same cargo ships and it all goes through the same scanners to weed out anything dangerous or forbidden. But last they heard, Keith’s present is still somewhere between Daibazaal and Earth and Lance will be tickled that his card got here first. 

 

The other card is from Shiro’s parents.

 

_ Huh. _

 

He opens that one up out of curiosity more than anything, and it’s about what he expects. Generic  _ hyaku-en  _ shop anniversary card, and they signed it. With a pen, even. It even says “from your parents.” But that’s all. No personal message, no gift cards or anything. No pissing and moaning about grandkids either, so that’s a relief. They’re always very specific about wanting  _ him  _ to give them the grandkids, preferably with a pretty Japanese surrogate, and they haven’t actually said this out loud but Shiro has the worst feeling they’d prefer that to be done the, uh,  _ old-fashioned way  _ and... ugh. __

 

Shiro hates to even think this, he’s glad they’re speaking to him again and that they’ve (begrudgingly) accepted the fact that he’s married to another man. But sometimes, he kind of wishes they’d just go back to pretending he didn’t exist. 

 

At least they’ve stopped asking Curtis what he is. 

 

Shiro tosses the mail onto the counter and checks the crock pot. Pulled pork in barbeque sauce today, and there are buns in the pantry for it. He even picked up some corn on the cob from the supermarket deli on the way home just so he can tell Curtis he did in fact eat a real vegetable today. 

 

But first, he heads for the bedroom and swaps out his uniform for a tank top and a pair of shorts. Then he goes to the model room, boots up his laptop, and starts his model printing. He opens the window a bit--that way, if the printer starts showing its ass again, he’ll be able to hear it from outside.

 

It’s warm outside but not unbearable, not yet. So Shiro scoops some pork onto a bun, adds a little dash of hot sauce, slathers a pat of butter onto an ear of corn, and takes his plate and a soda out onto the back patio. It’s nice to be able to do this, to have dinner outside when the house is empty. Eating in front of the TV by himself just doesn’t feel right.

 

He eats his dinner and scrolls through his various Net haunts and listens to the neighborhood kids playing and the neighborhood dogs barking and wonders yet again how the hell he got so lucky. 

 

His life hasn’t been easy. Between his parents and the disease and everything that happened between Kerberos and the end of the war, he’s  _ still  _ digging up stuff he’d rather leave buried. But he’s alive. He’s alive and he’s got a great job and a huge found family and a nice house and an amazing husband and as hard as his life has been at times, it brought him to this.

 

Still... it’d be nicer if that amazing husband was out here on the patio with him right now.

 

Ah well. It’s two weeks. It’ll be okay. Besides, they have those fancy phones, they can still talk to each other. And Curtis ought to be heading back to his cabin to do just that right about now. 

 

So Shiro pulls up his contacts, taps Curtis’ number, and hits the speaker button. Sure, he’s out on the back patio where any of the neighbors could hang out by the fence and listen in, but if the conversation starts to turn spicy--as it does sometimes--he’ll just go inside. It usually doesn’t this early in the deployment, but sometimes it does. Especially if one of them makes a particularly saucy play in that silly little game of theirs.

 

Curtis picks up and says something that sounds like “Hey, babe” around a mouthful of something.

 

“Hey, Curtiepie--shit, did I catch you at dinner, or--”

 

There’s a swallow. “No, I’m back in my cabin, I just--mph. ‘Scuse me. Hunk made red velvet cake and I kinda took an extra piece to go.”

 

Shiro lets his eyes drift closed and grins. “And it actually made it all the way back to your cabin?”

 

“Um... heh... most of it did? I might have eaten a couple bites in the lift.” There’s a pause and another swallow. “Okay. All done.”

 

“Oh good. I’ve got your undivided attention now.”

 

Curtis laughs, warm and sweet as that fresh red velvet cake, and Shiro feels his insides melt a little. “You  _ always  _ have my undivided attention. Tell me about your day.”

 

Shiro does. He tells Curtis about the class they ran through the simulators that morning. There’s a first-year cadet who kind of reminds him of Keith. A little prickly, but a lot of potential and he’s come a long way since the start of the term. He had to gently talk one of his senior cadets down from a fit of hysterical tears--that poor guy got one of Adam’s hardest missions and failed it three times in a row. Shiro doesn’t blame him for crying about it--hell, some of the missions Adam wrote have made  _ him  _ cry. But Adam didn’t do impossible scenarios and Shiro knew there was a solution, and he told the kid that. And then on the next attempt, he passed it. That was one of those little moments that remind Shiro why he loves teaching so much, and he tells Curtis that too. 

 

He tells Curtis about the anniversary cards that showed up in the mail today. He opens Lance’s and reads Curtis the letter tucked inside it. Then he describes the card his parents sent. Curtis, too, is both surprised that they sent a card at all and a little relieved that they didn’t take that opportunity to press for grandkids again.

 

There’s not much for Curtis to tell him about the actual mission they’re on yet; they’re still en route and won’t even pull into the Aia system for another day or two. But there’s plenty to tell about what’s happening on the  _ Atlas.  _ It’s all relatively mundane gossip. Griffin and his current girlfriend got caught in a supply closet doing what young couples do in supply closets but fortunately for them, Veronica was the one who caught them and all she did was laugh her ass off and shut the door. Iverson’s starting to get the hang of the teludav, though he’s a little skittish about wormholing into unfamiliar territory and Shiro understands that all too well. Coran explained more than once that if the operator tries to open a wormhole into, say, the center of a black hole or the core of a planet or a dense asteroid field, the system will detect any hazards and just shift that end of the wormhole into the nearest safe area. Still, it always made Shiro a little nervous, so he doesn’t blame Iverson a bit for erring on the side of caution.

 

The sun starts to set and the mosquitoes start patrolling, so Shiro takes his plate inside. Have they been talking that long? It doesn’t feel like it. It never does. It’s never long enough. He knows Curtis likes to keep that same early morning schedule in space, and he knows  _ he  _ should probably start thinking about bed too. And they’ll talk again tomorrow night. 

 

It’s still never long enough. 

 

A good laugh always helps, though. So he’s been preparing a response for the question one of them always asks, in case Curtis springs it first. And sure enough, just as Shiro is putting his plate in the dishwasher...

 

“So, uh...” Curtis clears his throat. “What are you wearing right now?”

 

Shiro flops down on the couch and takes a deep breath. “Edible undies,” he replies. “Sour cream and onion flavor.”

 

_ “Auh!”  _ is all Curtis can say about that. He tries to say a few other things. Nothing comes out but wheezing and cackling and the occasional snort, which just makes Shiro laugh even harder. “Thanks, I hate it,” he finally chokes out, still clearly fighting back laughter. “I’m gonna get you back for that one.”

 

Shiro just puts his feet up on the other end of the couch and grins. “Can’t wait.”

 

* * *

 

The next couple of days go pretty much the same way, early alarm and workout and work and dinner on the back patio and the nightly phone call. On Thursday after work Shiro goes to the therapist. There’s nothing new going on right now in his life, nothing in particular weighing on his mind other than missing Curtis. His life is all business as usual, and they just end up sort of shooting the shit for an hour. 

 

Then Friday comes and goes. Shiro always dreads the weekends a little when Curtis is away. He tries to keep busy. There are errands to run and things to do around the house, there are papers to grade and exams to write and lesson plans to work on. Now that the 3D printer is working, there’s model stuff to mess with. But there are too many hours in the weekend, and there’s not enough busywork to fill them with, and at some point he always ends up staring at the TV or mindlessly scrolling through his feeds while the printer runs. He hates doing that, and Curtis has told him point blank  _ don’t just sit around the house on my account, if you’re bored get out and do something fun, it’s okay.  _ But he never feels right about going to a movie or out to a nice restaurant or anything like that by himself. 

 

Sometimes Curtis calls early on the weekends, but he probably won’t be able to this time. There’s that diplomatic thing they’re doing, and he indicated that it’d be sometime today. Hopefully it goes well and the crew gets to take that little break at the Space Mall.

 

Shiro passes a little time while a piece of his model is printing by wandering around the Net, looking for inspiration for that silly game they play. Somehow he ends up looking at novelty barbeque aprons, and one of them catches him enough off his guard that he almost chokes on his soda. Right... that’s a keeper. 

 

His stomach starts growling, and he realizes he forgot to put something in the crock pot today. Damn. Well, there’s that pile of empanadas in the freezer, right? He pops two of them into the oven--one green chile chicken, one peanut butter and banana--and sets the timer.

 

When they’re done he takes them and his soda out on the back patio. Curtis had no idea how long this summit/state dinner/photo op/ _ thing _ was going to take, but he indicated that there probably wouldn’t be any heavy negotiations taking place since all the involved parties were already getting along pretty well. Shiro has never actually been to the Aia system, but he’s heard the habitable parts of it are nice enough.

 

He finishes his dinner and checks the time. Yeah, Curtis should probably be off duty by now.

 

The  _ thing _ was short and sweet and mostly the former. Curtis seems a little bewildered that they actually asked the whole-ass  _ Atlas  _ to come out for it. Well, they didn’t  _ specifically  _ ask for the  _ Atlas,  _ it’s just that Earth was the closest planet that could send a sufficiently impressive Coalition ship out to host the thing, but whatever. The good news is, that left plenty of time for that Space Mall run.

 

Keith apparently called in while they were there, though. He found something weird and his team is going in to check it out and might possibly need a hand from the  _ Atlas _ depending on what they find, and they’ll call back when they know more.

 

Curtis doesn’t elaborate on what exactly is “weird” about this. Maybe he doesn’t have those details. For about half a second Shiro considers calling Keith up to ask, but... no. They’re busy and he doesn’t need to hover.

 

It’s probably nothing.

 

* * *

 

Over the next few nights, Shiro starts to get the feeling that there’s something Curtis isn’t telling him about that supposedly uninhabited planet Keith is checking out. 

 

He relays a few more details--Keith found a freighter that crashed there, of the type the rebels used to transport refugees and such back when the universe still needed rebels to do things like that. And it looks like the survivors have built themselves a little settlement on the surface. But that’s all Curtis knows. 

 

Or at least, that’s all he says he knows. 

 

He can’t imagine what the hell it could possibly be, but Shiro can’t shake the nagging feeling that there’s something going on here that Curtis isn’t telling him about. He doesn’t think Curtis would  _ lie  _ to him, of course not, but he knows Curtis too well and something feels strange about this whole situation. He tries to prod for further details, tries to rephrase questions in a way that might yield more informative answers, even tries to sweet-talk Curtis into giving him a few minutes to get back to his office and then calling him on the official channel, and Curtis gently shoots that suggestion right down. Yeah, okay, fair enough.

 

Curtis does say that he, personally, is a little concerned that it could be a trap for reasons he’s not going to go into on a consumer phone connection. But he also says Keith seems to think it’s safe to go in, and since Keith is right there with eyes on the situation up close and personal, Curtis is going to trust his judgment. Shiro can’t argue with that. He’d like to. But he knows Keith too well, too. If he thinks it’s safe to take his team in, it’s probably safe.

 

And all of this is probably nothing. Curtis is a communications expert, after all. If he doesn’t trust a consumer phone connection to carry a piece of information there’s probably a good reason for it, and if it was something Shiro needed to know about right now, he would have agreed to the official-channel call. And he’s promised, more than once, to tell Shiro all about it when he gets home.

 

He’s just worrying about nothing, like he does. 

 

It’s just a crashed rebel freighter and probably some survivors that might want a ride somewhere. Nothing to lose sleep over.

 

He loses sleep over it anyway.

 

* * *

 

A few classes of junior cadets are running through practice for their final evals in the simulators. It’s going well, and Shiro makes a mental note to take Liam aside after class and give him a little “attaboy” for keeping his temper in check when things got a little stressful early in the mission. It worked for Keith, and it seems to be working for him too. Nobody seems to be having any particular trouble with anything, aside from that. They’re working together. They’re communicating. They’d probably ace their finals today, and all of this is just another set of reminders of why Shiro loved this job so much and why he wanted it back.

 

He’s just about to have the operator load up the third mission when the intercom beeps. “Captain Shirogane,” his aide says, “there’s a comm for you, I’ll put it through to your office.”

 

Shiro winces and looks back at the sim pods. He knows his aide wouldn’t page him right now if it wasn’t important, but he really doesn’t want to walk away from his class. “Kind of in the middle of something here,” he says. “Can you take a message?”

 

“It’s your husband calling,” she replies. “And he says it’s urgent.”

 

Shiro thinks about what’s been going on, thinks about what Curtis said, that concern that it could be a trap, and he feels the blood drain out of his face and the strength threaten to desert his legs. And the other teachers must have noticed that, because one of them pats him on the shoulder and nods towards the door. 

 

“Go,” she says. “I’ve got this.  _ Go.” _

 

So he goes. As fast as he can, and later he’ll have to apologize to the four people he nearly bowled over on the way to his office, but all he can think about is  _ husband  _ and  _ urgent  _ and  _ I’m a little concerned it might be a trap.  _

 

Later, much later,  _ months  _ later he’ll tell them both that his initial gut reaction to that summons was along the lines of  _ oh God, he’s dead  _ despite the fact that his aide said in so many words that his husband, his own self, was calling and therefore very obviously alive, and they’ll all laugh about it. But right now, it’s taking every ounce of self-control he has to keep the rising panic at bay.

 

He scoots into his office, slaps the panel to close and lock the door, and takes a second to try and steady himself before he reaches out with a shaking hand and hits the comm panel.

 

Curtis looks unharmed. A little anxious, maybe, but no bleeding or bandages or anything like that. Still, it’s clear by the look on his face and the official-channel call at this time of day that something big happened out there.

 

“Are you okay?” Shiro pants, looking Curtis over on the screen, trying to see if he can find anything obviously wrong, any injuries, anything. He can’t. Not so much as a hair out of place or a wrinkle in his uniform. “What happened?”

 

Curtis glances at something out of frame. “I’m fine. It’s okay. I’m okay. We just--remember how I told you I’d call you if--”

 

“Oh shit.” There is a very short list of reasons Shiro can think of why Curtis would be calling him about that planet right now, on this official channel, and none of them are good. “It was a trap, wasn’t it? But everyone’s okay, right? Who was it? Pirates, or--”

 

But Curtis just shakes his head. “No, it--nothing like that, it was just--” He pauses to collect himself, shuts his eyes, and takes a deep breath. “It wasn’t a trap,” he starts, and then in bits and pieces he starts to tell Shiro something about that planet, about what they found.

 

Shiro notices that while Curtis is stammering his way through this, he keeps glancing at that same spot off-screen. Always the same spot. What is he looking at? He doesn’t look frightened, but whatever it is, or  _ whoever  _ it is, it’s definitely got him rattled. 

 

And then Curtis just stops talking and shakes his head. He glances out of frame one more time, longer this time, and scoots his chair over a little and waves someone over, someone who’s been standing in the place where he keeps looking, and--

 

Oh God. 

 

_ Adam. _

 

It  _ is  _ Adam. There’s no doubt. Not even for a second. He’s changed. He’s changed a lot. But as many years as they spent together, there’s nothing that could change him so much that Shiro wouldn’t recognize him at first sight.

 

Shiro opens his mouth, not knowing what’s going to come out of it, not knowing if he can even make anything come out of it, and Adam does the same.

 

And then Adam wails  _ “I’m sorry!” _ and drops his head into his hands and breaks down sobbing and Shiro feels his heart shatter into a thousand little pieces.

 

* * *

 

Even after he and Curtis disconnect, Shiro can’t seem to make himself get up and go back to his class. He sits there at his desk, staring at that blank screen, trying to process what just happened and not even knowing where the hell to start. Yes, he did leave his colleagues saddled with his class and he really does need to get back to the sim bay but... how is he supposed to just go back to work like everything is normal now? How is he supposed to take the kids back to the classroom and go on for the rest of the day like nothing’s changed?

 

How the  _ fuck  _ is he supposed to tell A.J. and Judy that their son, who they are all just now starting to get used to talking about in the past tense, is alive and well and on his way home from the other side of the universe?

 

And the first thing out of Adam’s mouth was an apology.

 

_ God. _

 

Shiro clenches his jaw and tries to put the thought out of his head for now so he can get through the rest of this day but that  _ hurt. _ After everything that happened between them, after all the arguments and the missions and the panic attacks and the side effects and migraines and all the rest of the shit Adam had to put up with, he has nothing to apologize for.  _ Nothing.  _

 

_ (You’re learning from your mistakes,  _ Shiro tries to patiently remind himself,  _ you know better now and beating yourself up over what happened isn’t going to change it.) _

 

And that’s not even the worst of it, is it?

 

No. That’s not even close to the worst of it.

 

He was on a Galra prison ship, same as Shiro was. He’s wearing an eyepatch. His left arm and the left side of his face are webbed with burn scars. Maybe that was from the hit his fighter took from their weapons, but Shiro’s knowledge of what happens on those fucking prison ships is far too intimate for him to believe those are the only marks they left on Adam. What did they do to him? Were they taking him to a work camp? Did they experiment on him? Did they--oh God, did they make him fight? The thought of anyone being forced to fight for their life the way he was makes Shiro feel sick, but the idea that they might have done it to  _ Adam  _ is--

 

He can’t even finish that thought.

 

Adam seems okay though, considering everything that’s happened. A little stressed out, maybe, and that’s understandable. 

 

They’ll get a chance to talk when he gets home. Shiro knows that. He also knows his next appointment with the therapist is going to be a “fun” one. But for now he’s going to have to suck it up and finish this day out.

 

* * *

 

He tries to call A.J. and Judy the second he gets home. Tries to. He picks up the phone, pulls up his contacts, scrolls to their number, and just... sits there. Staring at it. Thumb hovering over the “call” button. He sits there in that numb haze until his phone goes back to sleep. Then he wakes it up again and repeats the process.

 

What the fuck is he supposed to say?

 

They’re never going to believe this.  _ He  _ wouldn’t have believed it if Curtis hadn’t done it on video. 

 

His dinner is still gently burbling away in the crock pot. He hasn’t even changed out of his uniform yet. He can’t seem to muster up the mental CPU cycles to deal with either of those things. And he’s still sitting there on the couch staring at A.J. and Judy’s number on his phone until the screen goes dark because the last time he talked to either one of them they all thought Adam was dead and Shiro doesn’t know how the hell he’s going to tell them he’s not and not have them think he’s lost his entire damn mind.

 

God. Fuck it. He needs to get his head on right before he calls them. And he’s not going to be able to do that until he can settle his nerves. And the surest way to do that is...

 

He scrolls down to Curtis’ number instead and hits “call.” It’s a little early, but it looks like Iverson might have let him out of his shift to show Adam around the ship and stuff, so...

 

“Hey, babe.”

 

Shiro lets out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Hey, Curtiepie.”

 

That’s all either of them can say for a while, and that’s okay. Shiro can feel Curtis’ presence on the other end, like a thick, soft blanket wrapped around him, and it’s okay. 

 

It’s hard to talk about this. Any of it. 

 

“They didn’t make him fight, did they?” Shiro asks. The words try to stick in his throat and he forces them out. He isn’t sure he wants to know, but he has to.

 

“No,” Curtis says, and Shiro feels some of that weight fall off his mind. “I don’t think so. He says he doesn’t remember much of what they  _ did _ do to him but... no. Not that, at least.”

 

But that doesn’t knock all of the weight off. He knows how much Curtis loved-- _ still  _ loves--Adam. He knows they were still together when the Galra invaded. 

 

He knows it’ll hurt like hell if Curtis takes him up on it, but he’d understand, and he thinks he should at least make the offer.

 

Curtis shuts him down before he even gets it all the way out of his mouth. 

 

“I said I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you,” Curtis tells him. “I love you.  _ I’m yours.” _

 

And that’s all Shiro needs to hear.

 

It’s okay. They’re okay.

 

* * *

 

All right. Now that he’s gotten Curtis’ voice (and the exquisitely disturbing phrase “crotchless jorts”) in his ears and a hot meal in his stomach and some clarity in his head, Shiro sits down on the couch to try this again. He pulls up his contacts again, scrolls down to A.J. and Judy’s number, takes a deep breath, and hits “call.”

 

Judy answers it. “Hey there, hon. Still having trouble with the printer?”

 

“Uh--” Shiro lets out a nervous laugh. “No, it’s--it’s doing fine now, it’s just... is A.J. there? Can you call him in and put me on speaker? And you... you need to sit down.” 

 

“Okay...” Judy does. “Takashi, are you okay? What’s going on?”

 

“Yeah, I’m okay. Curtis called me a little while ago and, uh... he’s okay too, he’s fine, they just--” Oh God. How is he going to do this.  _ How. _

 

He squeezes his eyes shut. Takes a deep breath.

 

“They found Adam,” he finally says. “He’s alive. He’s okay. He’s coming home.” His voice cracks on that last word, and nothing could have prepared him for the emotional tidal wave that hits all three of them when he says it.

 

* * *

 

Usually, Shiro finds himself dreading the weekend when Curtis is deployed but this time, it’s a relief. It took everything he had to get through the rest of the previous day after Curtis called him, and after that call to Adam’s parents last night he doesn’t know how he would have been able to just walk into his classroom today like nothing happened. He didn’t sleep. Partly because he couldn’t, partly because he was afraid to anyway. Can’t wake up to find out that none of this actually happened if he doesn’t sleep, right?

 

He tries to force himself through some semblance of a normal Saturday routine even though his brain feels like it’s had several packets of Pop Rocks poured on it. Get up. Coffee. Mow the lawn. Shower. Breakfast. Grocery shopping. 

 

He doesn’t know when the  _ Atlas  _ is coming in yet, though Curtis indicated that they’re probably going to drop the rest of the survivors off on a planet called Ebb and then wormhole back to the Milky Way, so... a couple of days. Too early to get the steaks. Then why the hell is he at the grocery store  _ now?  _ Well, he’s here. Might as well get whatever else he needs. 

 

Then it occurs to him that Adam is going to need somewhere to stay until they get his living situation handled, whether that’s in the dorm or whatever. Okay. They have a guest room. The bed needs fresh sheets. Shiro needs to clear all the winter clothes and crap out of there. Does he need anything? Toothbrush? Comb? Maybe he’d better grab one of those little travel toiletry kits just in case. What about clothes? He’s got clothes, obviously but... Earth clothes? Does he still wear the same sizes in everything? 

 

And where are his parents going to stay? He can’t very well ask them to get a hotel while they’re down to see Adam. They still have that air bed, right? The one they got when they first moved in, the one they thought they were going to have to spend their first night in the house sleeping on because the furniture place delivered their shit to the wrong house? He’d better get it out and blow it up just to make sure it hasn’t sprung any leaks in storage. They can put it in the model room. It’s fine. It’s all fine. 

 

...wait. Keith and Kosmo are coming back with the  _ Atlas,  _ aren’t they? Okay. That’s fine. Keith can sleep on the couch and Kosmo can sleep wherever, he can just poof himself outside if he needs to do his business, hopefully this time he won’t poof himself into the neighbors’ yard again. Holy shit, the house is going to be full. But that’s fine. It’s all fine. It’s all family. 

 

God, how the fuck is any of this actually happening right now? A couple of weeks ago he and Curtis were staring at that picture on the mantel, a couple of weeks ago he and Adam’s mom were talking about how much they missed him, just yesterday morning he watched a cadet run one of Adam’s hardest sim missions, the one that had made  _ Shiro  _ cry, and wished Adam could have been there to see this kid ace it and now he’s--

 

No, not “now.” He’s been alive all this time on the other side of the universe and _nobody had any fucking idea_ and if Keith hadn’t just happened to be in that area they still wouldn’t know. They might have never found out, and Adam might have lived out the rest of his life on that planet and Shiro and Curtis and Keith and Adam’s parents might have lived out the rest of their lives without even knowing.

 

This is too much. It’s all too much. 

 

Shiro knows Curtis is on duty and won’t see this for a while, but he shoots off a quick text:  _ brain train about to jump the tracks. All of that yesterday really did happen, right?  _ And as it always does, just the act of shouting into the digital void takes enough of the pressure off to let Shiro function at a more or less normal level for a while.

 

There’s no response until he gets home with the groceries an hour or so later.

 

_ It really happened.  _ There’s a long pause.  _ I thought the same thing this morning, fwiw.  _

 

Shiro lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding.  _ You off already? _

 

_ Lunch,  _ Curtis texts back.  _ While I have you--unless anything else crazy comes up we’ll be coming in Tues or Wed afternoon. How’d AJ & J take it? _

 

Oh boy. Shiro puffs out a soft little laugh.  _ It def took all of us on a feels trip. They want to come down, I’ll tell them. _

 

Another long pause.  _ He says thanks. He’s telling us all about the colony right now, it’s great. _

 

This feels weird, texting Curtis and knowing Adam is right there with him.  _ He’s still doing OK then? _

 

_ He is now. Maybe it was just a one time thing but he had a panic attack this morning. _

 

...oh, hell.

 

Adam has had panic attacks before  _ (and whose fault was that? _ a bitter little voice sneers in the back of Shiro’s mind; as he always tries to remember to, he reminds it that he knows better now and is making an effort to not repeat that mistake) and Shiro was afraid this might be an issue now, after everything he’s been through. Shiro understands all too well some of the shit he’s been through.

 

Still, he’d hoped that Adam wouldn’t have to go through  _ this  _ part of it.  _ Oh shit. What happened? _

 

_ I’ll tell you later. Too many people. _

 

Right. He’s at lunch, and he said “us.” Probably a full table.  _ Gotcha. I’ll call you tonight, k? _

 

_ OK,  _ Curtis texts. _ Love you. ♥ _

 

_ Love you too,  _ Shiro texts back.

 

* * *

 

When Shiro calls Curtis that evening he gets a little bit of a surprise--a “hey, Takashi” in the background after Curtis gives him the customary greeting.

 

“Hey, Curtiepie,” Shiro laughs back. “You got company? I can call back later.”

 

“No, it’s okay--” There’s some background conversation. “Hang on, he wants to--”

 

“I was just about to take off,” Adam says as Curtis hands the phone off to him. “But Curtis has real coffee and I don’t know what they’re trying to pull in the galley, what the hell  _ is  _ that!?”

 

“Right?” Shiro can’t help but laugh at that. “They use... I don’t know, chicory or dandelion roots or something once they run out of the real stuff and it tastes like  _ shit _ . I always brought my own too.”

 

“Mph.” A series of gulping noises.  _ “Ahh.  _ Okay. I’m done. Talk to you later, Takashi.” 

 

“Okay,” Shiro says. “Take it easy.” 

 

There’s the sound of the phone being handed off, and some parting words, and the sound of a door opening and closing. 

 

“All right,” Curtis sighs once Adam is gone. “Because I told you I’d tell you but like... not while he was here...” There’s a little sheepish laugh. “The guy he’s sharing the bathroom with had a red alert siren for a wakeup alarm and it freaked him out.” 

 

“Ah  _ shit,”  _ Shiro groans. 

 

“He says it didn’t happen on the colony,” Curtis goes on. “He had nightmares but not panic attacks or anything. I figure he probably didn’t hear a lot of the kind of noises that’d bring stuff back out there, and--well, you heard him, he seems okay now but...”

 

Curtis doesn’t have to finish that sentence. Shiro knows where it’s going. “Yeah... I hate to say it but after everything he’s been through... yeah. Fuck, I wish he didn’t have to deal with this.” He scrubs a hand over his eyes. “Maybe once stuff settles down we should talk to him about seeing our doc.”

 

“I was thinking that too,” Curtis says, and Shiro feels a little better because of course Curtis is thinking that too. “And I think he’ll be okay. Look how far  _ you’ve  _ come.”

 

And he has a point. A point that makes Shiro blush a little, but a valid point all the same. There are still some things that are pretty much guaranteed to set him off. But he’s gotten better at avoiding the ones he can avoid and dealing with the ones he can’t.

 

It still sucks and he still wouldn’t wish this on anyone. Especially not on Adam. “Okay.” Shiro sighs. “Does he know Iverson’s--”

 

“He’s, uh.” Curtis clears his throat. “He’s heard. He didn’t look thrilled but, y’know... he didn’t go storming up to the bridge to beat him up or anything so that’s something, I guess?”

 

Shiro can’t help snorting out a little dry laugh at the mental image. “I wouldn’t blame him if he did.”

 

“Me either but  _ that’s not the point.”  _ Curtis heaves a somewhat dramatic little sigh, and Shiro snickers at it. “He’ll be okay. He’s got his family,” Curtis goes on, “and he’s got Keith, and he’s got us. He’ll be okay.”

 

* * *

 

The conversation leaves Shiro less worried in some ways, and even more worried in others, and he knows he’s not going to get to sleep easily tonight either.

 

This is why they had a ladder permanently installed on the back of the house.

 

He grabs one of those cheap throw blankets from the linen closet, spritzes himself with mosquito spray, and goes out back. He climbs up the ladder and onto the roof, spreads his blanket out, and stretches out on it.

 

Of course he’s not going to sleep up here, but lying up here looking out at the stars helps settle his nerves when he’s had a trying day. Curtis does it too sometimes. Sometimes they both do it. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they just lie here together and stare out at the stars.

 

None of these stars were the sun in Adam’s sky. None of them are far enough away. Shiro isn’t even sure he’s looking in the right direction. It doesn’t keep him  from imagining it, though. He could see the touch of that sun in Adam’s hair and in his skin and in the light, loose warm-weather clothing he wore.

 

Did Keith find them in the summer? Did it snow there in the winter? Shiro hopes it did. It was one of the things Adam always missed the most about home. 

 

Shiro remembers how it felt to think he’d never see Earth again. To not want to think too much or too long about all the things he missed, because that would just make it worse. Adam must have thought that too, just a few short days ago.

 

And now he’s coming home. He’s alive and he’s coming home and he’s going to be okay. 

 

Everything is going to be okay.

 

* * *

 

The  _ Atlas  _ is coming in Tuesday afternoon, Curtis tells him sometime Sunday night.

 

Two days. No, not even two days.

 

It still doesn’t quite feel real. Even when he talks to Adam’s parents again to double-check what time their flight is supposed to land and when he needs to be at the airport to pick them up, even when he goes back to the grocery store after work Monday evening to pick up the steaks and makes sure to get a nice lean sirloin, the kind Adam always liked. 

 

It still doesn’t quite feel real the next morning at the airport when A.J. and Judy come running up to hug him, or when he makes them laugh by carrying their bags-- _ all  _ of their bags--with that right hand. He checks the time once they’ve stuffed the bags into the, uh ... _ vehicle  _ he’s renting while everyone’s here (he can’t bear to call the  _ vehicle _ what it is, not even in his head, it makes him shudder). They’re cutting it close, but if he doesn’t catch too many red lights, they should be able to run by the house to unload the bags and then get to the Garrison in time to watch the  _ Atlas  _ come in. Even if they miss the actual landing, there’s still stuff the crew needs to do, so it’ll be a while before Curtis comes off. But Adam might just come flying out the hatch soon as they start letting people off, and Shiro doesn’t want him to do that and find nobody out there waiting for him.

 

(Or even worse, for that to be the one time Iverson is in a hurry to get off the ship...)

 

They catch every red light. Every. Single. One. 

 

By the fourth one Shiro is grinding his teeth and silently counting to a hundred and resisting the urge to yell at inanimate objects, specifically, the damn traffic lights. Judy is trying to laugh it off and A.J. is good-naturedly ribbing him about the  _ vehicle  _ but he can tell they’re every bit as anxious as he is right now.

 

But they make it just in time, and it still doesn’t feel real. Even as they’re watching the  _ Atlas  _ descend and they see Keith’s little ship break from it to land on its own, it still doesn’t feel real.

 

The  _ Atlas  _ settles in its dock, and it’s not long before the hatches open and people start trickling off. Shiro cranes up as tall as he can, scanning for familiar faces. Iverson will probably be the last off; it’s kind of a tradition he picked up from Shiro. Hunk will probably be close to last, even though the ground crew can take it from here he likes to make sure everything’s in order himself. Slav might or might not get off at all, it depends on... whatever it depends on in whatever hypothetical alternate reality Slav is obsessing over today. Shiro sees the MFE pilots and wonders if that’s the girlfriend James got caught in the supply closet with. Zethrid and Ezor are impossible to miss. He doesn’t see Keith and Kosmo yet--Keith is probably still locking his ship down. But he does see Veronica and Acxa, hand in hand, Veronica’s free arm loaded with Space Mall shopping bags and Acxa’s cradling the most ridiculously overhuge stuffed animal. Which means the bridge crew just got released. 

 

It still doesn’t feel real. Not until Shiro sees Curtis coming down the walkway with Adam at his side. And then it all hits him at once.

 

He’s not sure who starts running to whom first, but later A.J. and Judy apologize for almost knocking him over. He doesn’t remember that. He does remember Adam bolting to meet them and the three of them collapsing to their knees in tears. 

 

And then Curtis has him. 

 

God, Shiro needed this. He throws his arms around Curtis’ waist and kisses him all over his face, and Curtis just laughs and hangs on and kisses back when he can find an opening. Then they catch each others’ lips and it’s slow and sweet and perfect, just like that first homecoming kiss always is.

 

“I missed you,” Shiro whispers when they come up for air. “God, I missed you.”

 

“Missed you too,” Curtis whispers back, and Shiro just clings to him and watches Adam and his parents over Curtis’ shoulder.

 

Adam looks up then, right at him. 

 

Shiro doesn’t have words to describe the feeling he gets deep in the pit of his stomach when they make that first bit of eye contact in person. Later, months later, he’ll mention it to Coran and naturally, there will be a very short, ridiculously precise Altean word for it that roughly translates to something like  _ that feeling when you lock eyes with someone and it feels like the entire universe has frozen in place except for you and whoever you’re looking at. _

 

Adam stands up, and helps his parents up, and he keeps staring. 

 

Curtis picks up his head and glances over his shoulder. “It’s okay.” He pats the small of Shiro’s back and lets him go. “Go ahead. It’s okay.”

 

Shiro isn’t sure he can. But he does anyway.

 

He expects this to be weird. It should be, he thinks as Adam comes to meet him. It should be weird. After all this time, after everything that’s happened, after the way their relationship ended, this should be awkward as hell.

 

But when they meet there in the middle there’s no pause, no pointless small talk, no negotiations about whose arm goes where. Adam’s arms find their old place around Shiro’s shoulders and Shiro’s find their old place around his waist and they just fit together _ ,  _ just like they always did, and standing here holding Adam again feels like the most natural thing in the world.

 

It shouldn’t. But it does.

 

* * *

 

They all pull themselves together just in time for Keith and Kosmo to just sort of appear in the boarding bay, and after another bunch of hugs and greetings they all head out to the parking lot, where Keith takes one look at the  _ vehicle  _ and doubles over wheezing laughter and Curtis, bless him, just sort of looks around confused and asks where their car is. At least A.J. has already gotten all the shit  _ he  _ wanted to give Shiro about it out of his system.

 

Shiro has a moderately sporty little car. Curtis has a pickup truck. Either of these would be fine if they were just giving Adam and his parents a ride, or just giving Keith and Kosmo a ride, but there’s no way in hell all these people _and_ their bags would fit in either of them. So Shiro figured maybe he’d better arrange something a little more spacious to get them all home from the Garrison at once and get them all around town if they want to go out to eat or do something fun or whatever. And, granted, he was right. But this didn’t go quite the way he hoped it would.

 

He tried to hit up the Garrison motor pool, to gently leverage his charm and his sort-of-celebrity status and the abundance of stripes on his shoulders to convince them to let him borrow one of their vans for the week, but it didn’t work. Something something Command cracking down on unauthorized personal use of Garrison vehicles something something. Which is kind of ridiculous, because  _ obviously  _ Shiro is authorizing the use of the vehicle for... yeah, no, that didn’t fly. Fair enough.

 

So with no other options, he ended up renting a minivan.

 

Yes.

 

A minivan. 

 

Plush seats with screens in the backs. Cushy arm rests. Cup holders for every seat. A luggage rack. The works.

 

Captain Takashi Shirogane. Ace pilot. Black Paladin of Voltron. Former captain of the IGF- _ Atlas.  _

 

_ Driving a minivan. _

 

“It’s okay, Shiro,” Keith says in that telltale deadpan that means he’s about two seconds away from losing every last bit of his shit as the loaded minivan trundles through the gate and the guard sees who’s driving it and does a double-take.  _ “I _ still think you’re cool.”

 

Curtis makes a little noise-- _ hngk!-- _ and bites his lip. Adam doesn’t even try to stifle his laughter.

 

* * *

 

The house is full, all right, and it’s wonderful. There’s a hard rule that Curtis does not have to cook on his first night home, but this is an unusual situation and Shiro is glad to let him put the potatoes in the oven and throw the broccoli in the steamer and put the salad together. While they’re doing that, Adam sits on the couch with his parents and pulls some stuff out of his bag--a mug that looks handmade for his mom, and a little beaded leather pouch full of pretty rocks and animal teeth and stuff like that for his dad. He tells them all stories about the colony; about his friends there, and the little town they’d built, and the things he did to make a living there. 

 

“Oh, you need to go visit your uncle, then,” Judy says when he mentions keeping little goatlike critters and making cheese. “He’ll just be tickled.”

 

“Is this the uncle that brought those brownies over?” Keith asks. “The ones you said weren’t for kids?” 

 

Judy and A.J. crack up, and Adam just buries his face in his hands and shakes his head. Shiro can’t help laughing a little himself. He remembers that trip. That was the last winter break before he and Adam split up. The three of them went up for Christmas and Adam’s weird hipster uncle with the weed-and-dairy-goat farm brought a shit-ton of fancy goat cheese and a small tin of “special” brownies for the grownups. Adam wouldn’t touch them, as much because of the “brownie” part as the “special” part. Shiro declined as well for several reasons, not the least of which was uncertainty as to how they’d interact with his meds. Judy and A.J. ate one each, mostly just to be polite; Judy fell asleep in her recliner after dinner and A.J. went for the leftover turkey maybe a little earlier than he normally might, and that was about the only effect they seemed to have.

 

Adam’s parents were the closest thing to grandparents Keith ever had, and he didn’t get to see them again, didn’t even talk to them again until after the war. 

 

_ (and whose fault was that? _ that sour little voice in the back of Shiro’s head pipes up again, and he gently shushes it again)

 

At least they’re getting to catch up now, and Shiro is glad it’s under these circumstances. It’s great to see them all together again, talking and laughing and  _ happy. _ More than once, he finds himself pausing while he seasons the steaks to watch them all chat. So does Curtis, he notices. 

 

But at one point, Adam’s gaze wanders over to the fireplace and he just kind of checks out of the conversation for a minute. He gets up, and Shiro knows exactly what he saw. 

 

He’s not looking at the photo on the mantel, not yet. He’s looking at the smaller photos on either side of the fireplace.

 

“There’s...” A strange, wistful little smile creeps over his face. “There’s a lot of pictures of me here.”

 

“I told you,” Keith says. Shiro gets the feeling there’s a deeper meaning to that, but he lets it go. He puts down his steak-doctoring stuff and washes his hands, and Curtis lets the vegetables fend for themselves for a little while, and they both join Adam in the living room. Shiro isn’t sure what to say, and neither is Curtis. So they just stand there with him, watching him look at all the pictures. 

 

His gaze catches on one of the newest ones. “Holy shit,” he half-laughs, “Takashi, is this--”

 

“Me and my parents in Osaka. Yeah.” Shiro chuckles a little. That picture is kind of awkward and stiff. Which, he supposes, means it’s a pretty good representation of the parts of that trip he and Curtis spent with them. “That was...” He clears his throat. “It went okay.”

 

“Huh.” Adam keeps looking over the pictures. He sees the one of himself and Curtis at Stampede, and the one of himself in a light jacket and Shiro in about twelve layers in front of the frozen Bow River, and the one of--

 

“Is this Prince’s Island Park? I don’t remember this statue... who  _ is  _ that?” He takes a closer look. He has to figure it out, Shiro thinks, he’s got to notice the glasses and the uniform and figure it out...

 

Curtis coughs softly into his fist and shoots Shiro a mild side-eye. Behind them, Shiro hears several strange noises--Keith stifling a weird choking laugh, and A.J. hissing in a little breath, and a moderately horrifying creaking grinding noise that Shiro suddenly realizes is coming from Judy’s  _ teeth. _

 

...is anybody going to answer that question? 

 

Does Shiro have to do it? Okay. Fine. That’s fine. “It’s, uh,” he starts. Oh God. “It’s--” He clears his throat again. “It’s, um... it’s you?”

 

Adam slowly, ever so slowly turns to face him and gives him the weirdest, most pointed glare. “No it fucking  _ isn’t!?” _

 

A.J. looks like he’s about to die of secondhand embarrassment on the sculptor’s behalf. Keith is silently laughing himself sick. And Judy’s teeth keep on grinding.

 

“What he means is,” Curtis starts, and there’s that strained tone in his voice that means he’s fighting back hysterical laughter and starting to lose the battle, “it’s  _ supposed  _ to be you.”

 

“It was nice of the city to put it up,” A.J. prompts, like he’s reading off a cue card, and he pats Judy on the shoulder. “Wasn’t it, honey?”

 

_ “Very nice,”  _ Judy grates out, and Shiro swears he feels the room temperature drop about twenty degrees.

 

“So!” he claps his hands together. “I, uh... I think we’re ready to throw the steaks on the grill, if we want to move this outside or if you guys just want to hang out in--”

 

“Hang on.” 

 

_ Now  _ Adam is looking at that picture on the mantel. 

 

“This is... hey, this is from right after we all graduated, right?” Adam reaches up to take it down, and then he gets a strange look on his face and turns the frame over. “You--” He runs his fingertips over the little plastic case labeled  _ contingency plan  _ in his own neat handwriting. “You kept this.”

 

“Well, yeah.” Shiro pats him on one shoulder, and Curtis pats his other one. “It’s... y’know. It means a lot to us.”

 

Adam turns the picture back over. “I can’t believe you still had this picture,” he says, setting it back on the mantel. “I put my copy of it in my classroom storage after I, uh... moved out, who knows what the hell happened to it--”

 

Curtis’ hand flies to his mouth, and his eyes go wide, and Shiro groans “oh,  _ shit”  _ at the exact same moment. 

 

Adam’s classroom storage. All the stuff in it. All the clothes. The books. The small appliances. The guitars and keyboard.  _ The recording gear,  _ ah shit--

 

“...what?” Adam asks, oblivious, and Shiro winces.

 

_ All right,  _ he thinks at Curtis,  _ I told him about the damn statue, you can break  _ this _ news to him... _

 

“Oh, uh...” Curtis coughs softly into his fist again. “Well... funny thing about that... it was still there after the war and, um... a while back they called Takashi to come clean it out so we... like I said, we thought you were, uh...” His ears start turning purple. “Um... a couple of your appliances are in the kitchen if you want them back?”

 

“We saved all the pictures and stuff and there were some memory cards with a lot of pictures on them too,” Shiro offers. “And uh. Maybe we can get your music stuff back from the Garrison? We kinda donated it to the academy, we figured they might be able to do something with it, but... shit, Adam, I’m sorry, if there was anything in there you want back we’ll replace it for you--”

 

Adam sighs and shakes his head. “No, no. Guys. It’s okay. Really. You didn’t know.” He reaches up and claps them both on the back. “It’s fine. Hey. C’mon, let’s go outside, I want to see Takashi cremate the steaks. Do we need to warn the fire department ahead of time?”

 

Against his better judgment, Shiro reaches over and pokes Adam in the ribs, right in the ticklish spot, and Adam rewards him with a squeaky yelp. “O, ye of little faith.”

 

* * *

 

Adam keeps a safe distance from the grill, but he stands close enough to watch in awe as Shiro tosses the steaks on. It helps that everyone in the house likes theirs seared on the outside and bloody on the inside (except Kosmo, he just takes his right out of the package), and all he has to remember is to put the biggest and thickest ones on first and work his way down so they’ll all be done at more or less the same time.

 

“I still don’t believe this,” Adam says while Shiro monitors the grill. “I’m seeing it, but I don’t believe it. Curtis, when the hell did he learn how to cook?”

 

Curtis throws the tennis ball and laughs as Kosmo scrambles after it. “I got sick one time a few months after we got together, and he made me soup.”

 

“It was just a bunch of stuff out of cans,” Shiro clarifies. “Now he wants it every time he gets the crud.”

 

“Excuse you, it was  _ good  _ stuff out of cans.” Curtis rolls his eyes. “Anyway, he kind of got bit by the cooking bug after that, so he started making more stuff-out-of-cans stuff. And then when we moved in here I started showing him how to use a real stove and all that...” A wicked little grin spreads across Curtis’ face, and Shiro heaves a pained sigh because he knows where this is going. “And then he got a little ahead of himself and tried to use the deep fryer while I wasn’t home--”

 

“All right, in my defense, I got the fire put out and we were talking about repainting the kitchen anyway.” Shiro flips the biggest steaks over and takes a moment to appreciate the perfect crusty sear and beautiful pattern of grill marks on their cooked sides. “So then Curtis decided he wanted a grill, and I watched him use it a few times and I thought, hey, I can do this and it’s outside so if shit catches on fire we can just turn the hose on it--”

 

“--which we only had to do a couple of times,” Curtis adds, with a wink. “‘Scuse me, I’m gonna get the veggies and stuff--Keith, you mind?”

 

“Sure.” Keith throws the ball one more time, gets up, and follows Curtis inside.

 

“Curtis and Hunk--did you meet him?” Shiro asks Adam, and Adam frowns a little. “Chief engineer? Moonlights in the galley? You probably had him in some of your classes--anyway, they kinda had to help me with chicken because, y’know, you can’t do  _ that  _ rare.” 

 

“Sure you can,” A.J. chimes in. “Maybe only once, though.”   
  


There’s a chorus of disgusted noises, except from Adam and his dad, who high-five and then laugh their asses off. “And,” Shiro goes on over the top of it all, “there’s a fine line between ‘done’ and ‘rubber chicken’ and we definitely had rubber chicken for dinner a few times. And speaking of ‘done,’ everyone grab a plate and line up. Adam, you’re the guest of honor, get over here.”

 

“Hey,” Adam laughs, “shouldn’t Curtis go first? This is  _ your  _ thing, after all.”

 

Curtis snickers a little as he sets the basket of baked potatoes on the table. “You just want to see someone else take a bite first.”

 

“Yeah?” But Keith hands Adam a plate, and Adam gingerly holds it out and tries to contain his laughter as Shiro lays that gorgeous sirloin on it. “It looks fine... it  _ smells  _ fine...” He sits down, and Curtis reaches into the basket with an oven mitt and sets a potato next to the steak. “Well... it was nice knowing all of you.” He carves off a little bit of his steak, clearly expecting to have to saw through it like a piece of lumber, and actually does a double-take when it yields to the lightest touch of the knife. 

 

Then he puts it in his mouth.

 

His eye closes. He keeps chewing and looks like he might be about to cry.

 

He swallows and opens his eye, and Shiro just beams at him. “Well?”

 

“It’s  _ so good _ ,” Adam says, almost reverently. “What the  _ fuck, _ Takashi.” And then he attacks his steak in earnest.

 

* * *

 

It’s not that Shiro means to do what he does on the way to bed that night but the door to the guest room is open, just a crack, and the sliver of pale light his shoulder throws through the door lands on Adam just as Shiro glances that way. It hits him like a punch in the gut all over again. 

 

He’s alive. He’s okay. He’s home. 

 

Shiro stands there just outside the door, watching the slow rise and fall of Adam’s chest in the near-darkness for a lot longer than he really meant to. Long enough that when he feels Curtis’ arms slide around his waist from behind, his initial reaction is something like embarrassment. But Curtis doesn’t say anything. He just rests his chin on Shiro’s shoulder and watches Adam sleep too.

 

“This is really happening,” Shiro whispers. “He’s really here. Right here. In our house.”

 

Curtis nods, his chin gently digging into the tight muscle under it. “It’s really happening.”

 

They’re quiet for a while.

 

“Is he going home with--”

 

“--with his folks, yeah,” Curtis finishes. “How long does he have off?”

 

“As long as he needs.” Shiro saw to that personally. With everything that’s happened, Command didn’t even try to argue. “Not much left of this term anyway, no real point in putting him back to work until the fall.”

 

There’s something Curtis wants to say, but he’s not sure how to say it. At least, that’s what this silence feels like. The only thing Shiro can do is wait.

 

“They’re not going to let him fly, are they?” Curtis finally asks, and Shiro flinches a little. 

 

“I don’t know.” He huffs out a soft sigh and leans his head against Curtis’ cheek. “If they have a brain cell between them they’ll give him a chance, but...” Curtis makes some soft little noise at that. He knows as well as Shiro does that Adam’s chances of getting behind the stick again are entirely dependant on Command giving everyone a turn with the active brain cell and looking at his past record and not just at what Medical says about his condition. And after Shiro had to spend two literal hours going over that long, long list of very good reasons why he wanted his old job back for a little while, he’s not getting his hopes up.

 

Adam has to be aware of that too, right? If he’s thinking he’s going to go right back to flying after all these years, with the new issues he’s going to have to learn to work around, not to mention that panic attack he had, if he doesn’t even know what else is likely to set those off--God, it’s going to break his heart if they disqualify him for flight duty, and the thought of that makes Shiro’s heart ache too.

 

“He’ll be okay,” Shiro says, as much to himself as to Curtis. He quietly pulls the guest room door closed, and he and Curtis head down the hall to their own bedroom.

 

They both figured that with everything that’s happened over the last few days and the house as full as it is, all they’ll want to do tonight is cuddle and then sleep. But they don’t progress past the “cuddle” part for a long time... and when they do, they find themselves heading in the exact opposite direction from the “sleep” part.

 

“I’m not sure this is going to work,” Curtis laughs into the curve of Shiro’s throat. And he has a point. The house is full of people, and not just any people. Their mutual ex is right down the hall. Their mutual ex’s parents are just around the corner. “Gotta be quiet.”

 

“I know,” Shiro laughs back. They can be quiet. It wouldn’t be the first time. They’ve had to be quiet on the  _ Atlas  _ before. If they could get away with fooling around with those thin walls between them and their neighbors, they can get away with it in their own house. “Need you.”

 

“‘Kay.” Curtis rolls over and reaches into the nightstand drawer to get the stuff and Shiro yanks the drawstring of his pajama pants loose and he’s just about to shove them off when there’s a flash at the foot of their bed.

 

They don’t have any pets yet. Shiro and Adam never had any pets. Curtis and Adam didn’t have any pets, either. So this is the first time either of them have ever had the uniquely unsettling experience of having their...  _ quality time  _ interrupted by a dog dropping a slobbery tennis ball on the foot of the bed and then just sitting there staring at them. A very large space dog, to whom walls and closed doors and the entire concept of privacy mean absolutely nothing.

 

Curtis flops onto his back and makes a noise like a deflating balloon (which, Shiro thinks, is an especially appropriate sound effect right now but never mind that). Shiro just buries his face in Curtis’ shoulder and wheezes helpless laughter. And Kosmo realizes that nobody is going to throw his ball, so he turns around a few times and then curls up right there on the floor.

 

Probably just as well.

 

* * *

 

They both blow off the gym but Shiro has to go back to work the next morning, as much as he hates to. He does call and cancel his appointment with the therapist for that week and remembers to ask the receptionist to warn her that next week’s is probably going to be a wild one.

 

But Curtis has the rest of the week off. And Keith is there, and Adam’s parents are there, and they’re all keeping Adam occupied during the day. They take him out shopping and get him some Earth clothes and a new phone (which, Shiro is pleased to note, Curtis promptly absconds with and loads down with that stash of relaxing games and nature sounds and stuff) and the biggest bag of black licorice they can find. Judy does a little fine-tuning on the 3D printer in person while she’s there, which is pretty nice.

 

Adam doesn’t ask to get his hair cut. On the contrary, he comes back from one shopping trip with a package of hair ties in his bag. The Garrison won’t give him any grief about it; even if they hadn’t relaxed the uniform regs to allow some wiggle room for extraterrestrials he can still call it a cultural thing. And besides, if what’s-his-face at Command can walk around with uncombed hair and three-day stubble and an unzipped jacket that looks like he slept in it, then they can damn well keep their opinions about Adam’s nice neat braid to themselves.

 

(Shiro is kind of glad he’s keeping it, but he doesn’t say so out loud.)

 

Then Friday night rolls around, and Keith and Adam and Adam’s parents are all leaving tomorrow, and Shiro gets the bright idea to take them all out for dinner.

 

He lets Adam pick the place. Adam wants pizza. Hey, that’s perfect, especially with this crowd to feed, and to make it even better Adam picks the place that’s basically Chuck E. Cheese but for grownups and they have a buffet.

 

It doesn’t occur to Shiro that it’s a Friday night and that place is a bar with a game room and a pizza buffet. It doesn’t occur to Adam either. It doesn’t occur to any of them. 

 

They pile into the  _ vehicle  _ (and God, Shiro can’t wait to take this thing back and get it out of his driveway) and head out, and it’s fine. They get in the door and get seated and it looks like they’ve beaten the dinner rush, so  _ that’s  _ fine. They all load their plates down and come back and they don’t quite have to yell to hear each other yet, and it’s fine. It’s all fine.

 

But then the place starts filling up a little more, and a little more. Not many kids, but it’s still getting more crowded in here by the minute. And it’s getting louder.

 

Curtis flashes Shiro an uneasy glance, and Shiro returns it. But so far Adam seems okay. He’s maybe not as talkative as he’s been, but he’s still keeping up with the conversation at the table. 

 

Still... if Shiro had thought about this for one second, he would have gently suggested a different restaurant. A quieter one. 

 

Shiro and Curtis try to keep an eye on Adam without being too obvious about it. He still  _ looks  _ okay, other than the occasional glance over his shoulder or twitch at a sudden outburst of noise from another table, but when Shiro looks at his plate he sees the same slice of pizza Adam has been picking at for the last ten minutes and it doesn’t seem to be getting any smaller. 

 

He pulls his phone out and holds it under the table, and he’s halfway through a quick text to Keith along the lines of  _ hey, see if Adam needs to go outside or something but be cool about it  _ when Adam gets up. He’s trying to act casual, and he’s doing a good enough job of it that Shiro thinks maybe he’s just been worried about nothing.

 

“Hey, uh,” Adam says, “I’m gonna go win some cheap plastic crap.” And he takes off towards the game room.

 

Okay. He just needs to get up and move around. He’s fine. 

 

But then Curtis gently elbows Shiro in the ribs and nods in the direction Adam goes. He does head for the game room, at least he does at first. But as soon as he thinks he’s out of sight he loops back around and makes a beeline for the door and there is nothing casual about the way he’s doing it. That’s the walk of a guy who needs to get the hell out of a place  _ right now. _

 

“I’ve got him,” Shiro says, and he gets up to follow.

 

Adam is fast, though. And by the time Shiro gets out the door, he’s lost him. Maybe he went back to the car, but without the fob he’s not getting in (unless he’s upset enough to break a window, which Shiro sincerely doubts--he looked agitated, but not  _ that  _ agitated). He’s not outside the door, or sitting on the curb, or on any of the benches out in front. 

 

_ All right,  _ Shiro thinks,  _ if I felt a panic attack coming on here, where would I want to go? _

 

Away from people. Away from noise. Preferably somewhere dark.

 

Shiro checks along the side of the building and sees one lone figure sitting on the curb there, head on his knees and arms wrapped tight around them. His head jerks up at the sound of Shiro’s footsteps, and Shiro holds up a hand.

 

“It’s just me.” He sits down on the curb next to Adam but doesn’t try to hug him, doesn’t touch him. Not yet. He’s not sure how that’ll go over and he doesn’t want to risk stressing Adam out any more than he already is. 

 

“I forgot how fucking  _ loud _ this place is,” Adam says. Shiro can barely hear him, but it could be worse. Shiro’s shoulder is shedding enough light on the situation for him to see the grayish-green cast in Adam’s face but he can still talk, he can still breathe, he might be freaked out but at least he’s not in the midst of a full-blown panic attack yet. “Should have picked somewhere else. I’m okay. I just--I needed some air.”

 

“You don’t sound okay,” Shiro says gently. “You don’t look okay either. C’mon. You know I’ve seen this before.” He tries not to think too much about the first time he saw it, or what had brought it on. “Want to go sit in the car instead?”

 

“No.” Adam shakes his head. “And I really do want to go win some cheap plastic shit. Just give me a minute.” 

 

Shiro laughs at that. It’s a good sign, if he  _ wants  _ to go back in there. “‘Kay.” He takes out his phone and sends Curtis a quick text-- _ noise got to him. Think he’ll be ok, give us a few minutes. Tell his folks he needed something out of the car or w/e if they ask.  _ Curtis sends a thumbs-up back. “Oh hey. Curtis put some stuff on your phone, right?”

 

“Huh--” Adam fumbles his phone out and tabs over to that folder. “Oh. Yeah, he put a bunch of crap on here, I haven’t even looked yet...”

 

“Here. This one helps me.” Shiro gently takes the phone from him and starts up the koi pond app. Adam gives him a funny look as he hands the phone back, and Shiro gives him a little shrug. “It still happens to me sometimes too.”

 

Adam taps the screen to toss a handful of fish food into the pond on the screen and watches a school of brightly colored koi snap it up. He does that a few times, then he discovers that he can push the lilypads around and sometimes find surprises under them. “What sets yours off? ...if you don’t mind me asking.”

 

“I don’t mind.” This isn’t the best time or place for this conversation, Shiro thinks, but at least Adam is talking to him, and that seems to be settling him down a little. “Stuff that reminds me of the prison ship, mostly sounds and smells and stuff like that... I can’t take sleeping pills or anything like that either, if I can’t shake it off it freaks me out.”

 

“Huh.” Adam nudges a lilypad aside and smiles a little when he finds a rainbow-striped koi hiding under it. “You’ve changed.”

 

Shiro can’t help but breathe out a little laugh. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” Adam pokes on a cluster of koi and watches them scatter. “I remember when you would have just told me you were fine and it was nothing and to quit nagging you about it.”

 

_ Ouch.  _

 

“I, uh.” Shiro scratches at the back of his head. He isn’t sure what he thought was going to happen when he sat down here, but he sure didn’t expect Adam to come straight for his whole life and all of his choices. “I’ve... been working on a lot of stuff.” He sits back a little. “I didn’t want to make the same mistakes with Curtis that I made with you.”

 

There’s a look on Adam’s face that Shiro isn’t sure how to parse, and he looks like he wants to do something with his hands other than hang on to his phone. But he seems okay now. The color is coming back into his cheeks, and his hands are steady.

 

“Okay,” he says with a little nod. He shoves his phone back into his pocket and gets up, dusting bits of grass and other debris off his butt. “Let’s go back in. I have a game card burning a hole in my pocket.” A little grin spreads across his face. “Bet I can still whip your ass at air hockey.”

 

“Oh  _ hell  _ no!” Shiro’s eyes go wide and a helpless bubble of laughter bursts out of him. He gets up too and pats Adam on the back. Maybe he leaves his hand there a little longer than he should. If he does, Adam sure isn’t calling him on it. 

 

* * *

 

“That was sweet of you,” Curtis tells Shiro later as they all pile into the _vehicle_ to head home. “Letting him win like that.”

 

Shiro clears his throat. “Uh. Heh. Yeah. It... it was, wasn’t it.” He glances up at the rear view mirror, and at the smug look on Adam’s face and the ridiculous new LED-logo-bedazzled baseball cap on his head.

 

* * *

 

Shiro loves his whole huge found family. Of course he does. He loves Keith and Kosmo and he loves Adam’s parents and he’s so glad Adam is alive and well. Still, he can’t help feeling a little relieved when he and Curtis drop Keith and Kosmo off at the landing pad and then take Adam and his parents to the airport and finally take that damn  _ vehicle  _ back to the rental place.

 

Finally. A little bit of privacy. It’s wonderful. Curtis seems to think so too; the second they come in the door they just sort of melt into each others’ arms right there in the entry hall. God, Shiro needed this. Just him and his husband and nobody else in the house. Nothing else that needs their attention. Tomorrow is Sunday so they don’t even have to worry about getting up early. No need to worry about noise carrying down the hall or space pets teleporting into the bedroom or anything, and when they’re done they won’t even need to put pants on if they want to go pick at the leftovers in the fridge before they fall asleep. 

 

But after they’ve worn each other out for the night, after they’ve cleaned up and gone to the kitchen to hydrate and graze a little, after they’ve snuggled up in bed together and long after Curtis has gone to sleep, Shiro lays there staring at the wall.

 

_ This isn’t going to change anything,  _ Curtis told him, and he believed it. He still believes it. 

 

But he remembers how natural it felt to have Adam in his arms again and for reasons he won’t even start to piece together for weeks, it scares the hell out of him.


	4. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam goes home, and starts to realize this isn't going to be as easy as he expected.

It’s good to be home.  _ Really  _ home. But it’s also kind of weird. A lot has changed since the invasion. A lot has stayed the same. Just enough of both, in just the right proportions, to mess with Adam’s head.

 

That wonderful diner where everything on the menu was probably at least thirty percent bacon grease and/or butter is gone. Adam remembers the fluorescent lights and the paneling and the vinyl seats in the booths and the posters and license plates and shelves full of knick-knacks all over the walls and the gumball machines that dispensed shitty plastic toys for a quarter by the door. There’s no trace of any of it. There’s not even a slab. They haven’t built anything else there yet. It’s just an empty parking lot.

 

They’re just now opening the top of the Calgary Tower up again. It survived the invasion, but took enough damage to need some serious reconstructive surgery. 

 

Some of the museums are gone. Some of the parks are still closed. But the zoo is open, with a few new exhibits of extraterrestrial animals.

 

His parents tell him his uncle’s goat-and-weed farm is fine. Not a scratch, though they did have a couple of scares. Adam figures he probably shouldn’t talk shit about that uncle anymore, considering he sheltered pretty much the whole family out there. His dad assures him it’s perfectly okay to continue to talk shit about him. 

 

The house took some damage. It’s all been fixed by now, of course it has, but some of the walls are different colors than Adam remembers. They have a new dog and a new cat. Some of the furniture is gone, and there’s new furniture in its place. The piano is gone. So is the big tree in the front yard. There’s a new coffee table in the living room that looks suspiciously like a slice of its trunk.

 

But the important things are still the same. The treehouse, by some miracle, is still there. Adam doesn’t trust any part of that tree to support his weight anymore, but it’s nice to see it. The pond is still there, and so is its little waterfall. 

 

The shoebox on the top shelf of his closet is still there, too. He doesn’t open it up, but he thinks about a similar shoebox, one that went with him from a dorm room to the house he and Takashi shared to another dorm room to the apartment he and Curtis shared, one that was likely vaporized in the invasion along with the rest of their apartment building, and he feels a little tug at his heart. 

 

Takashi’s last words to him--or so he thought, for a while--were in that box. He tries not to think too much about that.

 

The walls in his old room are a different color but most of the furniture is still there--the desk, the bookshelf, the double bed that replaced his bunk beds after he graduated from the academy. The bookshelf is kind of bare but the stuff that’s still on it is familiar. The ceiling is still dark blue and dotted with glow-in-the-dark stars in the same constellations, and Adam lies in his own bed on his first night home and watches them fade into the darkness.

 

The last time he saw those stars, Curtis was in this bed with him. He tries not to think too much about that, either.

 

* * *

 

He wakes up with the sun now. Not quite as early as Curtis and Takashi, but still earlier than he used to. His parents are still asleep, and that’s fine. He ties his hair back and puts on his eyepatch and his shoes and creeps downstairs.

 

He makes a stop in the kitchen to put some coffee on, and a stop by the fireplace for a bit of sage and a match. Then he quietly slips out into the backyard and sits down on the flat rock next to the pond. The little glazed clay dish they’ve always used for this is exactly where he remembers it. It’s even the same dish. Most people would use an abalone shell for this, but Adam remembers how his dad said that always felt weird, considering how far inland they were, so they used this little dish his mom made instead.

 

He sets the sage smoldering in the dish, and the smell of the smoke throws him off at first. It’s different. Jarring. He’s used to the stuff on the colony now--of course the real Earth stuff is going to smell different, right?

 

He takes off his shoes, sets his feet on the bare ground, and closes his eyes. 

 

_ Spirits of the West, of the rising sun-- _

 

Wait. No. Earth. The sun rises in the East.

 

He takes a deep breath to clear his head and tries again. But the prayer has gone through so many changes and revisions for a new planet that he’s almost forgotten how it’s supposed to go on Earth. By the time he finishes fumbling his way through it and gently puts out the smoldering sage and sprinkles the ashes on the ground he almost feels worse than when he started.

 

This is going to be harder than he thought.

 

But then again... what did he expect? His whole life here on Earth, exactly as it all was, waiting for him to come pick up where he left off? He’s been gone a long time. A lot has changed.  _ He’s  _ changed. It’s all going to take some getting used to. He knows that.

 

He just didn’t expect it to take this much getting used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little breather before shit starts getting real :}


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takashi sighs into Curtis’ shoulder. “We talked.”
> 
> “I know.” Curtis rubs his back. “He told me. I’m glad.”
> 
> Takashi is too quiet, for too long. “Did he say how it started?” Curtis shakes his head. “He, uh... I came in from mowing the yard and he was just getting up and... he saw my back. He knew what it--” Takashi just shakes his head and buries his face in Curtis’ shoulder. “They did it to him.” 
> 
> Takashi never told him exactly what those scars were from. He said he would talk to the therapist about it, but would never ever tell Curtis. But there are only so many things that can leave scars that look like that, and Curtis has had nightmares about all of them being done to Takashi. And now, knowing it happened to Adam too... 
> 
> Just for a moment, Curtis has an overpowering urge to drag Adam in here and curl up around both of them like that’s going to protect them from their own memories. He swallows it back and instead, he just holds on to Takashi until he finds his voice again.

Yeah, that next appointment with Dr. Sung is a “fun” one, all right. Not in the way Shiro expected it to be, though, and he’s not sure whether that’s better or worse.

 

He went in there with every intention of talking about the whole Adam situation from start to finish and--well, he knew there was only so much he could actually unpack in an hour but dammit, he wanted to at least open up the suitcase and take inventory of the contents. He doesn’t have that feeling like someone poured a can of ginger ale on his brain anymore now that all of this has had some time to sink in, but when he sat down he still had the worst feeling that he was going to end up losing his entire shit at some point and he’d need some extra time and a ride home from Curtis.

 

That doesn’t happen. What actually happens is a lot less dramatic, but just as concerning.

 

He gets as far as telling her Adam is alive and well and home and that’s all he can say. She knows the history. She knows what happened with him and Adam, she’s seen the inside of  _ that  _ suitcase. He didn’t want to make the same mistakes with Curtis that he’d made with Adam after all, and that required some understanding of why he’d made them in the first place. So he should be able to talk about  _ that  _ part of it, right?

 

Nope. Nothing.

 

When she can see that there aren’t any more details coming, she asks him a simple question. The simplest question she could possibly ask.

 

“How do you feel about that?”

 

Simple question. Should have a simple answer. 

 

He’s thrilled, of course. He’s absolutely overjoyed that Adam is alive and okay and home and getting a chance to go on with his life and they’re on speaking terms and they can finally get some closure on the whole issue of their breakup and everything that led to it and Curtis is thrilled to have his best friend back and  _ that’s  _ fantastic, too. He’s not worried about Curtis leaving him for Adam, either. He made the offer, or tried to. Curtis turned it down before he could even finish getting it out of his mouth, and that’s all there is to that. They’re okay, Adam is okay, Keith has his whole Earth family back, and everything is great.

 

It’s all great. All except for that prickly seething knot deep in the pit of Shiro’s stomach, and everything that’s tied up in it. 

 

He’s pissed off because Adam did time on a Galra prison ship and while that wasn’t quite as horrible as it could have been for him, it was still horrible and it still left him scarred inside and out and it still ended up costing him years of his life on Earth. And he’s pissed off at Sanda and Iverson all over again for sending Adam’s squadron out on what they knew damn well was a suicide mission. And he’s worried about what’s going to happen when Adam meets Iverson face to face because that’s going to happen sooner or later, especially if he gets assigned to the  _ Atlas.  _ And he’s worried about what’s going to happen when Adam sees that wall with his name on it, and the names of the pilots who didn’t make it back, and Ellen Fucking Sanda’s name right there with them as if she hadn’t handed Voltron to Sendak on a silver platter. And then there’s that night Shiro spent staring at the bedroom wall silently freaking out about how  _ natural  _ it felt to have Adam in his arms again, which brings him to the things tied up in that knot that he  _ can’t  _ name, the things he knows are there but can’t bring himself to examine, can’t even bring himself to think around the shape of.

 

But Shiro can’t seem to say any of it. He just sits there staring at the proverbial suitcase, trying to work up the nerve to open it up and describe its contents, and nothing comes out. 

 

It’s frustrating. He knows he shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t bottle stuff up like this. That’s a lesson he had to learn the hard way. Maybe he can just open the suitcase up a little and point at the shiny souvenirs and deal with the dirty laundry and stowaway bedbugs later, he thinks, trying to bargain with himself to at least talk about some of it. But he can’t. 

 

“‘I don’t know’ is an acceptable answer, Shiro.” He casts a sheepish glance up to see Dr. Sung smiling at him. “So is ‘I’m not ready to talk about that.’”

 

“Little of both, I think?” he finally says, and he’s not even sure why.

 

* * *

 

They go out for dinner after that. Shiro gets to pick the place. On Tuesdays, Curtis gets to pick after his appointment. Sometimes they talk about whatever they worked on that day. Sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they want to talk about literally anything  _ but  _ whatever they worked on.

 

Tonight Shiro doesn’t want to talk about it, and Curtis is fine with that. So they just sit there in that back corner booth at the ramen bar, holding hands and talking about the rest of their day and enjoying each others’ company.

 

And then both of their phones go off. 

 

Normally they don’t touch the things when they’re eating out, that’s date time, but the fact that they both pinged at the exact same time piques their interest. Shiro takes out his phone, and Curtis takes out  _ his  _ phone. It’s usually Keith when they both get something at the same time. This time, it’s Adam. They’ve both gotten the same text, with the same selfie attached to it, and...

 

“Oh  _ no,”  _ Curtis groans before he drops his head onto Shiro’s shoulder and breaks down into near-silent incapacitating laughter.

 

Shiro notes with some degree of relief that Adam has still not gotten a haircut but doesn’t say that out loud. He can’t say much of anything out loud anyway, because the combination of the selfie and the caption is doing its level best to kill him right here at the dinner table.

 

Adam has been out running around his hometown. He’s gone to the park. And he’s found the statue.  _ That  _ statue. The one his mom is still salty about. The one that looks even less like him now that he’s grown his hair out and swapped his glasses for an eyepatch. And he’s standing in front of it, and he has the most  _ horrified  _ look on his face. 

 

_ It’s even WORSE in person???  _ reads the text it’s attached to.  _ No wonder Mom’s pissed!  _

 

Shiro clamps a hand over his mouth to keep his drink in there and not on the table and possibly on Curtis. Curtis, fortunately, does not have anything in his mouth at the time but just as Shiro swallows, Curtis  _ snorts _ and that just sets him off again. 

 

* * *

 

Over the next two weeks Adam sends a regular stream of photos and texts from home to what’s become a little group chat for the three of them. He seems to be doing pretty well. He sends a selfie with his parents from one of the powwows, and even though they’re all in street clothes and thus probably weren’t dancing, it’s still good to see them there. 

 

Shiro can’t help laughing when Adam sends a few pictures from his weird uncle’s goat-and-weed farm. They’ve clearly been talking shop, at least on the goat side of the house judging by the neat pile of goat cheese logs stacked up on the counter in front of them, and that’s great. It’s nice to see him spending time with his family.

 

At one point the local media gets wind of him coming home, and that’s a little less great.  _ Just v. nicely asked CBC to stop following us,  _ Adam texts them late one afternoon.  _ No “v. nicely” is not sarcasm, I didn’t even say one bad word. “Ass” doesn’t count, you can say it on TV. :P _

 

And then... then that damn statue becomes ground zero in an explosion of ridiculous local drama.

 

Adam’s mom isn’t the only one who hates that statue. That’s never been a secret, though one would be hard-pressed to find anyone willing to say so on the record... until now. Now that the word’s gotten out that Adam is alive and well it’s as if some invisible authority has granted permission to let rip with all the unvoiced commentary, criticism, and outright mockery that’s been pressurizing ever since they unveiled the damn thing.

 

Adam tries to stay out of it for a day or two but Shiro knows him too well, and it’s no surprise when he finally joins the fray and posts that selfie to one of the local message boards. It blows up into a meme within minutes. And then in a shocking plot twist, the sculptor issues a public apology to Adam and his family. But it gets better--he then goes on to accuse Calgary Parks and Rec of changing the deadline on him multiple times, ultimately moving the expected delivery date up so far ahead of the original schedule that there was no chance of him doing the kind of job he would have liked to. By that point, he’d invested too much time and material into that thing to back out and was forced to half-ass it to finish it on time and get the second half of the agreed payment for it. The Calgary Parks and Rec spokesperson returns fire, describes their experience working with the sculptor as “excruciating,” and accuses  _ him  _ of blowing the first half of his payment (the word “casino” is not explicitly dropped but it’s heavily implied) and then dragging his feet on delivering the statue. They also offer an apology to Adam and his family, though theirs seems considerably more passive-aggressive and carries a strong subtext of “sorry we commissioned an idiot to do your statue.”

 

Shiro can just see Adam and his parents sitting back with their feet on the patio table clinking bottles of some IPA with a smartass name before taking a nice long refreshing drink and sharing a bowl of popcorn and watching this play out. Judy, for her part, has had enough experience dealing with clients as both an engineer and an artist to favor the sculptor’s side of the story and also to get the feeling that she dodged a bullet when they decided not to commission  _ her  _ to do it.

 

Other than the statue fiasco and the occasional over-eager reporter, Adam seems to be having a good time back home. More importantly, he seems to be adjusting to Earth life again. 

 

Shiro is still not looking forward to the conversation Adam is going to have with Command over what he’s going to be doing from now on.

 

* * *

 

Shiro isn’t able to meet Adam at the airport when he comes back, but Curtis manages to get out of work to pick him up and when Shiro gets home, he finds the two of them in the kitchen making dinner. It’s a little jarring to see them both in there, at first. Like his eyes are showing him some kind of weird double exposure from his past and his present together. But he shakes it off, gives Curtis a kiss, and gives Adam a hug--which still feels way too natural for comfort but it’s  _ Adam, _ what else is Shiro supposed to do? Shake his hand? “Hey, you. Did you have a good time?”

 

“Yeah, other than the nosy reporters and the ride back from the airport?” Adam laughs. “When did Curtis start driving like that? Or did he always drive like that? Am I just now noticing it?”

 

Shiro makes a little face--he knows exactly what Adam means by “like that,” and he is  _ not  _ answering that question. Not that he doesn’t know the answer. Oh yes, he knows the answer, all right. 

 

The answer is: yes, as far as Shiro knows, Curtis has always driven like that. He supposes it maybe kind of makes sense in a way. Curtis is so mild-mannered in almost every other aspect of his life, he’s got to have  _ some  _ kind of an outlet, right? Besides, he’s from a city where you can go twenty miles an hour over the limit in the slow lane and still get dirty looks from people passing you like you’re in reverse. 

 

(That doesn’t really make sense considering the fact that Curtis did not learn to drive in Houston, he took driver’s ed right here at the academy same as they all did, but whatever.)

 

And it’s entirely possible that Adam just never noticed it before because he was so used to it. But Curtis still sighs and looks a little ashamed. “I did slow down when you asked me to.”

 

“You did, and I appreciate it.” Adam pats him on the shoulder. “Anyway, yeah, it was nice. I’m itching to get back to work, though.”

 

Curtis shoots Shiro a little worried glance when Adam turns his back to put some stuff in the oven, and Shiro gives Curtis one right back. “He basically forced me to let him help with dinner,” Curtis says, one eyebrow arched, in that distinct tone where he sounds like he’s kidding but Shiro knows perfectly well he really isn’t. 

 

“Yeah?” Adam shrugs and closes the oven door. “I’m not over actually having  _ appliances  _ again? We had two working fridges in the whole colony and the clinic needed them. Don’t even get me started on the microwave. Or the blender. Or the electric kettle.” 

 

Shiro opens his mouth to maybe ease into that difficult conversation, but then he closes it again and shakes his head. This isn’t the time. “Well,” he says instead, “it’s going to be good to have you back. The cadets might not be all that happy if you start writing sim missions again, though.”

 

“Heh. That’ll be fun.” Adam flops his oven mitt on the counter and pauses. “...shit. What happened to my ‘cadet tears’ mug?”

 

“Ooh. Uh...” Curtis grimaces a little as he locks down the lid on the pressure cooker and starts it up. “It wasn’t in your classroom or your storage so... it must have been in the apartment.”

 

Adam hisses in a breath through his teeth.  _ “Oof.” _

 

“You, uh.” Shiro clears his throat. “You kept it?”

 

“Yeah?” Adam shrugs. “It was a great mug.”

 

Shiro had thought so too. He barely remembers giving it to Adam--or, more accurately, telling him where it was hidden. It was their last Valentine’s Day together. Shiro had just gotten back from a mission, and before he left he hid Adam’s present in the hall closet. Just in case the damn disease decided to mess with him, like it sometimes did when he came home from a mission. And it was a good thing he did, because what was supposed to be a nice Valentine’s Day date night ended halfway through dinner with Adam rushing Shiro home to nurse him through one of his killer migraines. 

 

After everything that happened between them after that, he can’t believe Adam kept that mug.

 

Shiro excuses himself to go change out of his uniform, all the while replaying what little he remembers of that night in his head.

 

_ I’m staying with you because I love you, you fucking walnut.  _

 

There was no heat in that. It was practically a term of endearment. Shiro doesn’t remember asking the question Adam was answering, but those migraines and the weapons-grade painkillers he had to take for them warped his sense of reality, made him think he was talking out loud when he wasn’t and vice versa. 

 

_ You’re the strongest, bravest, most amazing person I’ve ever met. _

 

He remembers wanting to argue about that. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. He couldn’t even stand up, he was barely conscious. He wasn’t strong. He wasn’t brave. He was just trying to cram as much living as he could into the two or three years he had left before his brain and his muscles stopped speaking to each other for good because he didn’t know how else to prove that his life was worth something even if it wasn’t the one his parents expected of him.

 

_ And I wish I knew how to make you understand that you don’t have to prove it to everyone all the time and you don’t ever have to prove it to me. _

 

That wasn’t the first time Adam said something like that to him, and it wasn’t the last. He said it again the night he left, didn’t he? Shiro wanted to argue that point too, the first time and every time Adam whispered it, sobbed it, shouted it at him. Sometimes he actually did argue it. It never ended well. 

 

It seems stupid now, Shiro thinks. He should have listened. And maybe he even wanted to listen but he was so caught up in that desperate need to make those last few years count that he couldn’t. He tried. He passed up a few missions now and then, tried to put forth the appearance of slowing down for the sake of his health but it couldn’t last. It never did. Nothing he did would ever be enough, and Adam always got stuck nursing him through the backlash when he pushed too hard--

 

_ (Stop,  _ he tells himself firmly but gently.  _ Stop. This isn’t helping anyone. Not you, not him. You know better now.) _

 

Shiro pulls on some sweatpants and throws on a T-shirt and sits down heavily on the foot of the bed to get himself together. He still needs to sit down with Adam and talk about all of this. He still owes Adam an apology for everything that happened between them. But this isn’t the time.

 

* * *

 

Adam is going to be staying through the weekend, at least; it’ll be Monday at the earliest before he can get into a dorm room. And that’s fine. If Adam and his parents and Keith and Kosmo could all stay in the house for the better part of a week without any mishaps, they certainly have enough space for Adam by himself.

 

It’s weird, Shiro thinks, how  _ not  _ weird it feels to have Adam in the house. But he does notice something a little odd while they’re eating dinner. More than once, he notices Adam quickly looking away from him or from Curtis, like he’s afraid of being caught staring. Curtis notices it too, but neither of them says anything. 

 

Later--much later, weeks later--they’ll both wish they had.

 

They finish their dinner and Adam insists on cleaning up. Normally that’s Shiro’s job when Curtis cooks, which is most of the time, but all Adam lets him do is hand him dishes. And that’s a little worrisome, too. Especially given what Curtis said earlier, about him demanding to help with dinner. 

 

“I’ve been chilling at home for two weeks,” he says when Shiro suggests he go chill on the patio or in the living room or whatever. “I need to do something constructive.”

 

Okay. No point arguing with that. Maybe he did just get back from chilling at home for two weeks, but he was living in the wilderness and working his ass off all day every day for years before that, and that kind of routine is tough to change once it takes root. Shiro knows that all too well. It’s going to take some time for him to adjust to an easier life. 

 

Still, once all the dishes are rinsed and in the dishwasher Shiro gently relieves Adam of the counter rag, takes him by the shoulders, aims him towards the living room where Curtis is pointedly gesturing to the recliner, and gives him a little nudge. “You’re not doing this every night,” Shiro says and Curtis nods, with that little smile and that little hint of steel in his eyes that Shiro has seen way too many times. That’s the look Curtis gives him when he’s been working too hard for too long and needs to be reminded to take a break. “You’re our friend and you’re our guest. You don’t have to work off your room and board. Enjoy it while you can.”

 

“If you don’t,” Curtis starts, a little twinkle of mischief in his eyes, “you’re going to wish you did the first time you come home to a room inspection notice.”

 

_ “Ugh,”  _ is all Adam has to say to that, that and some eye-rolling. But he does plop down in the recliner after a stop in the guest room to fetch the little portable keyboard his parents got him and a pair of earbuds to plug into it. When Shiro finishes up in the kitchen and sits down next to Curtis on the couch, he sees Adam playing it while they watch TV. And that’s good, Shiro thinks. He’s picking up his old hobbies again. Maybe he can go back to playing for the chorus. Curtis would be thrilled about that, the new guy they have is... well, Shiro knows next to nothing about music but Curtis explained to him that being a good pianist does not necessarily translate to being a good  _ accompanist.  _ Adam was both. This guy isn’t.

 

“You don’t have to use the headphones,” Curtis says after a while, and Adam shakes his head.

 

“It’s just scales. I’ll unplug them when I can play you something worth hearing.”

 

“Okay.” Curtis leaves it at that, and they go on for a while watching TV and chatting about what’s been going on at work and such.

 

But after a while Shiro notices that every few minutes, Adam stops playing, scowls a little, shakes and stretches out his left hand like it’s asleep or cramping up or something, and goes back to playing. He watches a little more closely when he thinks he can get away with it and sees Adam’s left hand missing notes, or hesitating, or just not crawling up the keyboard with the same precision it always used to. And that would be understandable--he hasn’t touched a piano in years, after all, he’s going to be rusty. But his right hand is moving smoothly across the keys, up and down. Maybe a little slower than he used to play his scales, sure, but the difference between his left hand and his right is clear, and a little unsettling.

 

Curtis notices it too, and he flashes Shiro another one of those little concerned glances. 

 

He was fine when they were in there cooking dinner, his knife skills were still as strong as ever. But he’s right-handed, and he’s probably been doing a lot of his own cooking. He was fine cleaning up, but rinsing dishes doesn’t take a whole lot of fine motor coordination. Playing the piano is a different story. 

 

So is flying a fighter.

 

Shiro tries not to think too much about that right now.

 

* * *

 

Curtis is never really sure when, exactly, he realized he was wrong about this not changing anything, but he’ll remember that this is when he started to feel something strange hanging between the three of them.

 

Takashi noticed it too--the way Adam kept quickly looking away from one of them, like he thought he was doing something he shouldn’t be. Curtis chalks it up to him still adjusting to lights and noises and such at the time. Later, he’ll want to kick himself for not doing the math.

 

But when they go to bed that night, while Curtis is lying there with Takashi snuggled back against his chest, he can’t stop thinking about the way Adam all but forced his way into the kitchen and started chopping up vegetables and stuff, like he couldn’t stand the thought of sitting down while there was some kind of work he could do. Or the difference in his hands while he was sitting there playing scales. And that’s just the stuff he can put words to. There’s something else, stirring below the surface.

 

“Hey,” he whispers, patting Takashi’s stomach. “You still awake?”

 

“Hm?” Takashi wriggles a little. “Yeah. You okay?”

 

“Yeah.” Curtis nuzzles the back of Takashi’s head, breathes in the ghost of his shampoo and aftershave, lets the familiar scent ground him. “I’m worried about him.” 

 

“I am too.” Takashi blows out a soft breath and takes hold of Curtis’ hand. “I think he’ll be okay but he needs some time.”

 

“And he doesn’t want to take it,” Curtis adds, and Takashi grunts softly and nods.

 

“I don’t like the idea of him going back to work this soon,” he says. “Even if he’s just going to be teaching again. After everything he’s been through he needs a break.”

 

“I know but... you know him.” Curtis knows how frustrated Adam can get when he thinks he’s not doing enough. He remembers the months before the invasion, Adam working desperately in the simulators night after night trying to find something, anything to use against the Galra, coming home at ten, eleven, midnight, three in the morning, whispering  _ I’m sorry, I’m so sorry  _ as he slipped into bed. After the first few nights it became clear that nothing Curtis said or did would convince him to back off, and besides this wasn’t about Adam’s pride, there was an urgent problem that desperately needed a solution. Lives depended on him finding it. His own life depended on him finding it. So in the end, all Curtis could do was keep Adam’s dinner warm and hold him until he stopped running simulations in his head. “The harder you try to make him take one, the harder he’s going to push back. He’s stubborn.” Curtis pats Takashi’s hand and kisses the back of his head. “Just like you.”

 

“Hey.” Takashi laughs at that, but he knows it’s true. “I know better now. And if I can learn to step back, so can he.”

 

He’s right. Of course he is. 

 

It’ll be okay. It might take some time, but it’ll be okay.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Curtis’ phone rings at some hour that only registers to Shiro as “way too early for the weekend.” He remembers some hushed conversation, and some soft grumbling, and then Curtis getting up.

 

“Hey,” Curtis whispers, and Shiro feels gentle fingers sweep his hair back. “That was Iverson. I gotta go to work.”

 

“What?” Shiro sits up halfway, blinking sleep out of his eyes as Curtis gets socks and underwear out of his drawer. “Shit. What happened?”

 

“Nothing. It’s not--” Curtis tosses an undershirt onto the bed. “We’re not launching or anything. They’re just doing some upgrades and stuff and they need the bridge crew there for--” He rolls his eyes and waves a hand. “Reasons? I don’t know. He says it shouldn’t take long unless something goes pear-shaped, which, uh--” He leans over and softly raps his knuckles on the nearest wooden surface.

 

“Mm.” What time is it? Seven in the morning? On Saturday? Well, Iverson probably figures if they have to do it today it’s better to get it out of the way early than call everyone down in the middle of the day, and Shiro supposes he can’t fault the man for that. Doesn’t stop him from wanting to, though. “You want me to make you some coffee, or--”

 

“Eeh...” Curtis wrinkles up his nose, checks the time, and sighs. “I’ll grab some on the way. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can come home.”

 

“‘Kay.”

 

Curtis grabs his stuff and goes off to take a quick shower, and Shiro considers trying to go back to sleep but is it worth it? Really? Sure, they sleep a little later than normal on the weekends but he still wants to mow the yard before it gets too hot out there.

 

Yeah, might as well get up. He puts on a T-shirt and his yard-mowing shorts and shuffles to the kitchen because even if Curtis can’t stay for coffee,  _ he  _ sure as hell needs some. He almost taps on the guest room door to see if Adam is awake and wants a cup, but decides against it. It’s early. Better let him sleep.

 

Curtis comes out a few minutes later with his hair neatly combed but still damp, zipping up his jacket. “Be back soon as I can,” he says, pausing in the kitchen to give Shiro a kiss. “If I’m not back by noon you two go ahead and--”

 

“You tell Iverson I said if you’re not back by noon I’m coming down there.”

 

That earns Shiro a laugh and another kiss, and then Curtis is out the door.

 

Shiro finishes his coffee, rinses out his mug, and gets to work. 

 

He does the front yard first, pausing to wave at a neighbor now and then. It doesn’t take long, the front is smaller and they’ve got some big xeriscape beds and stuff out there that take up most of it. Still, by the time he finishes the front and sides and moves on to the back, his T-shirt is starting to cling to him in the most uncomfortable ways and places.

 

The backyard is huge and it’s all grass. Shiro and Curtis have made some vague noises at each other about getting a pool put in. Nothing has really come of that yet, but the closer they come to summer the more Shiro wishes they’d just go ahead and pull the trigger on it. 

 

At least the fence is tall enough and solid enough that nobody is going to see him back here unless they stick their face right up against the cracks between the boards, so after a water break Shiro pulls his T-shirt off and tosses it over the back of a patio chair. He supposes he could get away with that in the front too, but... well, this is another reason they’ve been muttering about getting a pool. It took him months to start feeling comfortable without a shirt on in front of Curtis, he still changes and showers in a stall at the gym, and he’s still not okay with the idea of strangers gawking at his scars. And he hates swimming in a shirt, but it’s that or deal with the stares.

 

They can afford to have someone out to do the yard for them, but Shiro actually enjoys doing it himself. Curtis laughed at him when they were house hunting, when he saw this yard and started getting excited about the prospect of mowing it, but he genuinely loves it. After everything that’s happened to him, he likes how mundane it feels. How  _ normal.  _ Just for a little while he’s not a pilot or a Paladin or a starship captain or a hero, he’s just a normal guy out doing normal stuff in his yard. And it’s one of those chores where he can turn his mind off and run on autopilot. It’s a sort of walking meditation, just the drone of the mower and the early morning sun and the smell of the grass and one foot in front of the other with a ninety-degree turn to the left every so often. 

 

There’s something uniquely satisfying about shaving down that last little strip in the middle of the yard, but by the time he finishes with the backyard the sun is beating down in earnest and he’s starting to wonder if he should have put some sunscreen on his shoulders. His right one doesn’t get dangerously hot in the sun or cold in the winter like one would think a big chunk of metal would, but there’s still skin there and it’s still as vulnerable to the sun as it ever was. He’s more than a little tempted to turn the sprinkler on and just stand in it for a while. 

 

No, better to just go inside. 

 

Without really thinking about it, he grabs his shirt and tosses it onto the washer on the way in like he always does--he’s going to throw a load of clothes in there later anyway, so no point in dragging it all the way back to the laundry basket. Then he kicks off his grass-stained sneakers and heads into the kitchen.

 

If he’d been thinking about it, he would have put his shirt back on.

 

He doesn’t think about it, even as he’s standing in front of the sink munching on a bowl of cereal and gazing fondly at his freshly-mowed backyard and he hears footsteps. He doesn’t think about it until he hears bare feet on the kitchen tile and Adam starting to say--he’s not sure what exactly, it sounds like it might have been “morning” or “mowing the lawn?” or something, but whatever he meant to say dies in a choked-off gasp. 

 

Ah,  _ shit. _

 

Shiro doesn’t bother asking what’s wrong. He knows from the second he hears it. He sets his bowl down and turns to look anyway, and he sees horror on Adam’s face. Horror, and something worse.

 

_ Recognition. _

 

Adam knows exactly what he saw, Shiro is sure of it. He saw that pattern of scars across Shiro’s back and he knows what they’re from. There are two ways he could know that and Shiro hopes to God that he just saw it being done to someone else and they didn’t--

 

“You too?” Adam asks, quietly, and Shiro feels his blood run cold.

 

He opens his mouth to say something, he doesn’t know what. Nothing comes out. So as much as it hurts him to do this, as sick as it makes him feel, he just nods.

 

Adam swallows hard, and then he quickly averts his gaze and stares at the floor instead. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to--”

 

“No, it’s--it’s okay. Just--” The thought of strangers and neighbors seeing his scars makes him uncomfortable, but the thought of  _ Adam  _ having to see them is almost unbearable. It doesn’t occur to him until much, much later that his scars might not be all Adam caught himself staring at. “Hang on a sec, okay?”

 

“‘Kay.”

 

Shiro nods again and ducks back into the laundry room. His discarded T-shirt might be a little smelly, but it’s mostly dry now and it’s there. He throws it back on and goes back to the kitchen. 

 

He doesn’t ask, doesn’t wait for Adam to, he just pops a pod into the coffee maker and gets a mug down from the cabinet and gets the half and half out of the fridge for him. “How much do you remember?” he asks, then quickly adds: “It’s okay if you don’t want to--”

 

“No, it’s--I asked you some kinda personal stuff the other night too.” Adam sits down at the table, hands folded in front of him. “Not much of it. Even the stuff I remember is fuzzy except for. Y’know.  _ That.” _ Shiro doesn’t have to ask what  _ that  _ is. “The one thing I wish I  _ didn’t _ remember.” He’s quiet for a long time. “Sometimes it all just feels like a bad dream.”

 

Shiro watches coffee trickle into the mug. “Yeah, I hear that.” He glances over and sees Adam staring at his scarred left hand. “And then you look in the mirror and...” He raps his knuckles on his right shoulder and lets the dull metallic noise finish that sentence for him, and Adam nods.

 

“Yeah. Exactly. On the colony it was--” He lets out a little dry laugh. “It wasn’t even a big deal. Most of us came off prison ships, hell, most of us came off the same one and we... just understood. For the first year and a half or so we all slept in the wreck, if someone had a nightmare we all knew it, we’d just remind them they weren’t there anymore and it was okay and the next morning we’d all get up and do what we needed to do and that was it. We didn’t  _ need  _ to talk about it. It was just--a thing.” 

 

One corner of Shiro’s mouth tugs upward. “I don’t have a lot of room to talk but... that kinda doesn’t sound like the healthiest way to deal with it.”

 

“It probably wasn’t, but... it got us through the day.” Adam shrugs a little. “And at least I didn’t remember much of it. I remembered Earth, though. I tried not to think about it. I didn’t think I’d ever see it again... but sometimes I couldn’t help it and that kept me awake more than the prison ship shit ever did. Thinking about everything I wished I could do over, everything I wished I could have said to Curtis and my family and Keith and--and you...”

 

The stream of coffee flowing into the mug tapers off into a trickle, then drops, then nothing. Shiro adds a splash of half and half and a spoonful of sugar, sets the mug in front of Adam, and sits down across from him. He’s not sure this is a good time for this, but they’re both here, and Adam kind of went there, and Shiro needs to say this. “Don’t ever lose any more sleep over what happened with us. It was my fault.”

 

“Takashi--”

 

“I never blamed you for leaving.  _ Never. _ After everything I put you through, you... you don’t have anything to apologize for.” 

 

“You were dying.” Adam shakes his head. “You were fucking _dying_ and I--I could have stuck it out until the launch.”

 

“No.” Shiro lays a hand on Adam’s arm. “You were right. I wasn’t taking care of myself, and you were burning yourself out trying to take care of  _ both  _ of us, and I saw what it was doing to you and I still--you did what you needed to do.”

 

“It was just a couple more weeks,” Adam protests. “I could have stayed for a couple more weeks!”

 

_ “I _ could have stayed,” Shiro counters. And that stuns Adam into momentary wide-eyed silence.

 

“Okay, well.” Adam sputters out a little laugh once he collects himself. “If you  _ had  _ stayed, you would have died. Hell, we  _ all _ would have died. Nobody else could have done what you did. Nobody else could have survived what they did to you.”

 

That catches Shiro a little off guard because, well...  _ “You  _ survived it.”

 

“I almost--” Adam stops there, like the words are stuck in his throat. When he starts again, there’s hesitation in his voice. He’s choosing his words very carefully, and Shiro knows better than to ask him what he was originally going to say. “I got lucky.”

 

“I got lucky too.” Shiro raises an eyebrow. “There was a  _ Blade _ on my ship.”

 

“Really?” Adam sputters, an incredulous grin spreading across his face. “You’re going to turn  _ this  _ into a dick-measuring contest?” And as soon as it’s out of his mouth, he cringes. “Um. That was, uh.” Is he blushing? “That was  _ not _ the best choice of words, was it.”

 

Shiro tries to answer that with a straight face and can’t. Well, at least Adam is laughing too. That’s something.

 

Okay. No, maybe the coping mechanisms Adam was using back on the colony weren’t the healthiest, but at least he can talk about it a little. It’s a start. Shiro is a little worried about how anxious Adam is to get back to work and suspects this might be one of those less-than-healthy coping mechanisms that followed him home, but it’s a start.

 

“Listen,” Shiro says, “me and Curtis were going to sit you down and talk to you about this later but since we’re kinda on the subject... there’s a therapist at the Garrison. She specializes in, y’know. Invasion trauma stuff.” Not the most elegant description, but it gets the point across. “We’ve both been seeing her, and it’d probably be a good idea for you to talk to her too.”

 

Adam makes a face. “God, not the therapy shit again.”

 

Yes, again. The doctor had laid that option on the table the night Adam had that first panic attack, the night all those years ago when he collapsed in a parking lot, ashen-faced and sweating and gasping for air, when Shiro bundled him into the car and rushed him to the emergency room, when both of them were sure was having a heart attack. The doctor had gently suggested it, and Adam had handwaved it off. He was too busy, he said. Shiro suspects there were other reasons, but he didn't press for details, and he decides not to now.

 

“Well, I’d feel better if you went, and I know Curtis would too.” Shiro reaches over and lays his hand on Adam’s, his metal right hand on Adam’s scarred left--and that, too, feels way too natural for comfort. “But that’s your call. And if you’re not ready for that but you need to talk to someone about what happened to you... I’ve been there, okay? I can listen.” He gives Adam’s hand a gentle squeeze and lets go. “I didn’t listen to you back then. It’s the least I can do now.”

 

Adam looks down at their hands for a while, curious. Just as Shiro is about to apologize, Adam carefully picks that metal hand up in both of his. “This is wild,” he laughs, softly, turning Shiro’s hand over for a better look at the palm. “Did you win that arm-wrestling tournament with this one? Seems kinda unfair.”

 

_ “Shit,”  _ Shiro wheezes. “Okay, in my defense, half the field had robot arms.”

 

Adam flips his hand over again, and Shiro lets him. “Can you, like... sit on the couch and send it in here for snacks?” 

 

“Yep.” Shiro flashes him a little grin. “I do it all the time. And people learn  _ real  _ fast not to ask me to give them a hand with anything...”

 

That gets a genuine laugh out of Adam. Good. His thumb absently traces the joints in Shiro’s fingers, and it’s all Shiro can do to not think about the last time Adam held his flesh-and-blood right hand. 

 

Then Adam frowns at the light coming off Shiro’s elbow and looks up at his shoulder. “So... if something gets between your shoulder and your elbow... is there a force field there, does it just pass through, does it, uh--I’m not going to accidentally vaporize my hand trying to pat you on the back or anything, am I?”

 

Shiro just laughs at that. “No, no. Nothing like that. You won’t feel anything, it just feels kinda weird for me, like there’s something inside my arm but--”

 

“You can  _ feel  _ that!?” Adam drops Shiro’s hand like it burned him and looks up, maroon spreading from his nose to his cheeks. “Oh shit! Takashi, I--I’m sorry! I didn’t--”

 

“Hey, no.” Shiro shakes his head and starts to reach for Adam’s hand again, but decides that might not help right now. “I... guess I should have told you first, huh?” Adam doesn’t look convinced. Dammit, this was going so well... “Adam.  _ It’s okay.  _ You didn’t do anything wrong.”

 

Adam still looks flustered, but at least he doesn’t look like he’s fighting back an urge to run out the door and take off down the street. “I just... I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

 

“You’re not.” Shiro shakes his head. Trouble? What kind of “trouble” does he think he’s going to cause? “I promise you’re not. We’re good.”

 

They sit there for a while in uneasy silence. Shiro stares at the table. Adam sips his coffee and stares into the bottom of the mug... and then he sniffs it, looking a little confused. Then he puts the cup down and sniffs again. “Uh... not trying to be an ass but...” He lets out a little chuckle, still carefully not looking at Shiro. “Is that you?”

 

Adam doesn’t elaborate on what  _ that  _ is, but Shiro has the worst feeling he knows. He tries to be casual about this, but there is really no way to look cool when one is sniffing one’s shirt to see if it’s the source of a smell. It’s even harder to look cool when one can confirm that yes, one’s own shirt is in fact the source of the smell. “Oof. Yeah. I, uh. I think it is. Sorry. I’m... go ahead and help yourself to whatever, I’m gonna go take a shower if you don’t mind--”

 

“I don’t mind.” Adam laughs at that, soft but sincere.  _ “Please  _ go take a shower.”

 

* * *

 

Ship-wide system upgrades on a Saturday morning. What was Iverson thinking?

 

To be fair, it was probably more Slav’s fault than Iverson’s. What  _ probably  _ happened was, Slav started the thing going at the crack of dawn on Saturday morning, then called up to the bridge because he needed something done at that end, started freaking out because nobody was answering, then called Iverson at home freaking out, and then... it all just snowballed from there.

 

Curtis dutifully chugged his coffee and disposed of the cup before he reported to the bridge. Veronica pointedly sat down at her console with Starbucks in hand. Iverson didn’t give her a hard time about food or drinks on the bridge. He didn’t have room to. He was nursing his own venti at his own console. 

 

At least it goes smoothly, or as smoothly as anything ever goes when Slav gets a wild hair to do it on a Saturday morning. And when Slav calls up to the bridge to tell them it’s done, Iverson tells the bridge crew in so many words to get the hell out before he finds something else to upgrade and then marches to the lift, slaps the call panel like it insulted his mother, and presumably heads for Engineering to remind Slav about this Earth thing called  _ the weekend  _ again.

 

Curtis doesn’t hang around to shoot the breeze with Veronica or anything, and she doesn’t wait around for him. The whole bridge crew makes for the exit hatch in a mad stampede and that’s it. They’re free. They might even get kicked out of work a little early one day this week to make up for it, and that’s ...maybe worth it? Curtis even thinks he might actually get home before noon. Though it  _ would _ have been funny to see Takashi come up and just sort of hover right outside the bridge giving Iverson the hairy eyeball... 

 

He pulls his truck into the driveway and checks the mailbox. Some junk, a bill, and that’s it. Still no sign of Keith’s present. He notices the freshly-mowed front yard and doesn’t hear the mower going in the back, so he figures Takashi must have started on that right after he left.

 

Curtis opens the front door and kicks his boots off in the entry hall, and he sees Adam sitting at the kitchen table with a coffee mug at his elbow. When Curtis first walks in he’s got his head down, but he sits up right away when he realizes he’s not alone.

 

“Hey.” Curtis pats him on the back. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah. I just, uh... yeah.” Adam clears his throat. “Takashi’s in the shower.”

 

There’s something a little strange in the way Adam is acting right now. Well, there’s  _ been  _ strangeness in the way he’s been acting since he came home, but this is different. He seems distant. Maybe a little cagey. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Curtis asks him gently.

 

Adam opens his mouth like he’s not sure if he should answer that. “We, uh... we talked,” he finally says. “About  _ us.” _

 

He’s clearly not expecting Curtis to pat him on the shoulder and smile on the way to the fridge for a Coke. “That’s good!” Curtis says. “I was hoping you would.”

 

“Wh--shit, okay--” Yeah. Definitely not the reaction Adam was expecting, and Curtis can’t help being a little tickled. “It doesn’t bother you that I sat here. At your kitchen table. With  _ your husband. _ And we talked about how we broke up.”

 

“No?” Curtis just shrugs as he reaches into the fridge. ...does the can feel a little less cold than normal? Eh, probably just his imagination. “Why would it bother me? You’re working stuff out. That’s a good thing, right?”

 

Adam just raises an eyebrow. “You’re not jealous?”

 

Aha.  _ That’s  _ what he’s worried about. “Adam.” 

 

“I was checking out his hand,” Adam goes on, in the same tone of voice he might have used to confess to accidentally hitting a line drive through someone’s window. “Like. Touching it. Holding it. I didn’t know he could feel--”

 

_ “Adam.”  _ Curtis cracks his Coke open and laughs. “I know you. It’s fine. Besides--” He takes a sip. Hmm. ...no, it’s fine. “His hand is  _ cool. _ I don’t blame you. I know he doesn’t either.”

 

“I know, but--” Adam huffs out a little breath and relaxes a bit. “Yeah, okay. God, this would be easier if you’d just--ah, forget it.”

 

_ If I’d just what?  _ Curtis opens his mouth to ask, but he decides against it. Adam seems rattled enough, it’s not a good time to put him on the spot like that. So he just gives Adam another little pat on the shoulder. “Be right back. I gotta get out of this uniform and into some human clothes.”

 

Adam makes some little noise and goes back to his coffee, and Curtis goes on down the hall. He hears the shower cut off in the master bathroom just as he goes into the bedroom and sheds his jacket. A couple minutes later, Takashi comes out of the bathroom, barefoot and in clean jeans and a T-shirt. 

 

Curtis barely has time to get “hi” out of his mouth before Takashi sweeps him into a big, tight, clinging hug. All Curtis can do about it is hold on until Takashi lets him go. “You okay, babe?”

 

“Yeah, just--” Takashi sighs into Curtis’ shoulder. “We talked.”

 

“I know.” Curtis rubs his back. “He told me. I’m glad.”

 

Takashi is too quiet, for too long. “Did he say how it started?” Curtis shakes his head. “He, uh... I came in from mowing the yard and he was just getting up and... he saw my back. He knew what it--” Takashi just shakes his head and buries his face in Curtis’ shoulder. “They did it to him.” 

 

Takashi never told him exactly what those scars were from. He said he would talk to the therapist about it, but would never ever tell Curtis. But there are only so many things that can leave scars that look like that, and Curtis has had nightmares about all of them being done to Takashi. And now, knowing it happened to Adam too... 

 

Just for a moment, Curtis has an overpowering urge to drag Adam in here and curl up around both of them like that’s going to protect them from their own memories. He swallows it back and instead, he just holds on to Takashi until he finds his voice again.

 

“I mean... I knew they would have hurt him but knowing it is one thing, hearing him say it was--okay, you know what, this is going to fall under ‘stuff I promise I’ll talk to the doc about but I don’t want you to hear it’ so...”

 

“I know.” Curtis reaches up and pets the back of Takashi’s head. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”   
  


“And, uh.” Takashi clears his throat softly and laughs a little, soft and kind of nervous. “I think I fucked up.”

 

Curtis returns that little laugh and gives him a squeeze. “What’d you do?”

 

Takashi throws up one helpless hand behind Curtis’ back. “I kind of... put my hand on his? And I forgot to tell him I can feel stuff with it, and then he started checking it out--and then I said something about having feeling in it and he freaked out--”

 

“Oh, honey.”  _ Is this going to be a thing now? _ Curtis wonders as he reaches up to run his fingers through Takashi’s floof, still soft and damp from the shower.  _ Am I going to have to reassure them that it’s okay to talk to each other without me around? Every time?  _ “Takashi, it’s fine. This is all going to take some getting used to. For all of us. Someday you’ll both laugh about that.”

 

“I know, I know.” Takashi gives him one more squeeze and lets him go. “Are you, uh... are you really okay with me talking to him about stuff like that, though? About... us?”

 

Yes, it’s starting to look like this is going to be a thing. But Curtis guesses he can understand why they’re concerned about that. He personally thinks it’s a little silly of them, but he understands it. “Yes,” he says, “I am absolutely okay with you talking to him about stuff like that. I  _ want  _ you to talk to him about stuff like that. If he ends up teaching you’re going to be working together.  _ Please  _ clear the air, I’d hate to see y’all being all weird at each other at work.” He pulls off his undershirt and tosses it into the laundry basket. “Hey, since you mentioned the doc--did you say something to him about maybe making an appointment with her?”

 

“Yep.” Takashi sits on the bed and lets Curtis do what he needs to. “He doesn’t want to go.”

 

“Neither did you.” Curtis hangs up his jacket and slacks and gets out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. “How’d that work out in the end?”

 

Takashi sighs and rolls his eyes. “It worked out fine. Eventually.”

 

“There you go.” He puts on his human clothes, doesn’t bother with socks or shoes for now, and sits down next to Takashi. “You know what? I promised him fajitas and we’ve got time today. Want to see if he’s up to going to the grocery store with us?”

 

* * *

 

Adam does fine at the grocery store, much to Curtis’ relief. It’s a Saturday and it’s a little crowded, but it doesn’t seem to bother him too much. And that’s good. The three of them make their way up and down the aisles, grabbing the things they need for the week. Adam asks if he can get a few things and swears he’ll pay them back when he starts getting paid again on the first of the month but Curtis doesn’t really care and neither does Takashi, he’s sure. It’s not like he’s asking them to buy him a car or anything, he’s just getting snacks and a box of cereal and--and a package of black licorice.  _ Yuck.  _

 

Adam starts getting a little antsy while they’re standing in line to check out, but once they get back outside he relaxes a little. Curtis still lets Takashi drive. It’s weird, though--Curtis’ foot has always been a little heavy on the gas pedal and that never bothered Adam before. Well, for the last few years his fastest mode of transport was probably horse-like-critter-back, it’s understandable.

 

They get home, and Adam and Takashi put the groceries away, and Curtis gets to work on the chicken. As he always does, Takashi cruises by and hangs over his shoulder for a minute to get a good whiff of the seasoning. Adam does a drive-by sniff a few minutes later, just like  _ he  _ always did. When he’s done getting the chicken into its tasty, tasty bath, Curtis washes his hands, covers up the bowl, shoves it into the fridge, and grabs another Coke.

 

Hmm. No, that’s definitely not as cold as it should be. Well, someone probably just nudged the temperature control thingy by mistake. It happens. He tweaks the control thingy in the direction of “colder” and closes the door.

 

And now, they wait. And that’s fine. It’s a beautiful day and Takashi likes to sit outside and admire his yard, and the patio is shady and cool. So they find a nice chill playlist to listen to and sit out there with a cooler of Cokes and listen to the neighborhood kids playing and the neighborhood dogs barking while they talk, and it’s nice. Everyone is relaxed and conversation comes easily and everything is okay. Nothing is weird. It’s all fine.

 

Until Takashi goes in a couple of hours later to get some more ice for the cooler and comes back out with the ice bin and a horrified look on his face. 

 

Curtis looks up at him, and he’s sure he’s doing a thing like dogs do when they hear a high-pitched noise and he’s well aware of how ridiculous he probably looks. “What’s up?” 

 

Takashi just walks out into the grass and tips the ice bin up, and Curtis watches a torrent of water and a massive clump of melting ice cubes pour out of it. 

 

It takes him a few seconds to do the math. Ice bin. In the freezer. Full of ice that is partially melted. Why is ice melting in the--

 

“Oh  _ shit!”  _ Curtis sputters as it hits him, scrambling out of his chair and tearing back into the kitchen. Okay. If there was still some solid ice in there, it can’t be too bad. But Curtis yanks the freezer open and hears the fans running their little hearts out and feels room-temperature air puffing out of the vent and sees beads of very much liquid condensation gathering on the surfaces of the frozen things, oh no, oh shit, oh  _ no-- _

 

He shuts the freezer, opens the fridge, and grabs a Coke can. Nope. It’s cooler than outside the fridge, but just barely. And there’s been a bowl of raw chicken sitting right there in the middle of it all the whole time.

 

“Wh,” Curtis whimpers. He shuts the door and stands in front of the fridge staring at the magnets and the photos and the coupons and the other ephemera that tends to find its way onto the front of a fridge as his fajitas die a slow and painful death within. Not just the fajitas either--the milk! The ice cream!  _ The entire empanada stash!  _ Curtis opens his mouth to say something and nothing comes out but a pitiful little squeak.

 

“Okay,” Takashi says, in that tone of voice that means he sees a mission that needs accomplished. “Gimme your keys. I’m gonna take your truck and the big cooler and go get a shitload of ice, don’t open the doors till I get back. You call the appliance place, the damn thing’s still under warranty, tell them we’re losing a whole fridge full of food here.” 

 

“‘Kay.” Curtis nods numbly and holds out his keyring and gets out his phone while his brain tries to do a speedrun of the seven stages of grief for his fajitas and gets stuck on “bargaining.” How long is it safe to leave raw chicken at a temperature that is cooler than room temperature but warmer than it should be? What if he just goes out and fires up the grill  _ right now? _

 

_ But it hasn’t been marinating long enough!  _ one voice in his head protests.  _ It needs at least another hour! _

 

 _Are you_ _seriously considering tempting fate and also salmonella with chicken that has already been sitting in a broken fridge for two+ hours!?_ another counters.

 

“What do you need me to do?” Adam asks, in that same  _ mission accepted  _ tone.

 

“Um--” Takashi clears his throat. “I think Curtis could use some moral support.”

 

* * *

 

It’ll be Monday before anyone can come out to fix the fridge. And in the end Curtis decides it’s best to err on the side of caution. He tosses the chicken. He almost cries while he does it, and Takashi and Adam honor the fallen poultry with a solemn salute while Curtis carries the bag out to the curbside bin.

 

It’s not just the wasted food that has Curtis so upset. It’s the broken promise. Yeah, he had every intention of following through on it, it wasn’t like he planned for the fridge to crap out on them today, but he knows how much Adam was looking forward to this and now...  _ ugh. _

 

Well, they’ll just have to have him over for dinner some other time and do it then. For now, they end up just baking up as many of the empanadas as they can instead and burying the rest in the cooler of ice along with the dairy stuff. 

 

“This is fine,” Adam assures him, over and over. “It’s fine, Curtis. I got a chicken bacon ranch one, that’s... close, right?”

 

At least Takashi kept his promise to leave him a  _ cajeta  _ one...

 

* * *

 

They try to just eat the stuff in the cooler the next day but by dinnertime they’re all burned out on it and they end up ordering something. Which is fine with Adam. Curtis is a great cook and there’s enough variety in the empanada stash to keep it interesting for a while, but a guy can only eat so many empanadas in one day.

 

And then Curtis and Takashi realize there’s a new problem. The repair guy is coming tomorrow. The appliance place said, as they do, “sometime between eight and five.” And they both have to work. Takashi can’t take off because it’s finals review time and he’s already taken more days off in the last few weeks than he’d like to this time of year. Curtis might get let out early to make up for Saturday morning, but that’s not guaranteed and he has to go in first.

 

After the two of them spend way too long discussing this without hitting on the obvious solution, Adam clears his throat.

 

“Guys. Hello.” He waves a hand, and they both look at him. “If you’re willing to put me up for one more night, you two can go to work and I’ll stay here and wait for the fridge guy.”

 

Curtis and Takashi look at each other, and Adam can’t help smiling because he knows exactly what they’re doing. He’s done it himself enough times, with both of them--a whole conversation is going on right in front of him, without a single word spoken out loud. And Adam knows them both well enough to hear the whole thing. It’s a great idea, they’re thinking, but they don’t want him to burn his whole day sitting around the house when he could be getting his dorm room and uniforms and shit.

 

And sure enough, Takashi gives him a little concerned look. “Are you sure?” he asks. “I know you were wanting to get all your stuff done tomorrow so you can get back to work.”

 

“Yeah, well.” Adam shrugs. “It’s been how many years? One more day’s not going to matter.”

 

“Huh,” Curtis says. “Yeah, I mean--that’s probably a good idea? And if I get off early and the guy’s come and gone maybe I can run you down to Admin before they close and we can get  _ some  _ of your stuff done if you want?” And then, as if he can read Adam’s mind, Curtis heaves a deep sigh and holds up three fingers in a Boy Scout salute. “I  _ promise  _ I won’t go more than ten over the speed limit.”

 

* * *

 

Adam can tell that Curtis and Takashi are trying to be quiet as they’re getting up and ready at that ungodly hour the next morning, but the last few years have made a pretty light sleeper out of him. So he gets up and shuffles into the kitchen. He can nap after they leave if he wants, it’s no big deal. 

 

They ask him again if he’s sure he’s okay with this arrangement. He is. Yeah, he wanted to start getting his shit together today but this is fine too. He hasn’t really had much in the way of alone time since he’s been back, and a few hours of not having to interact with anyone else might be kind of nice.

 

Takashi leaves him their NomRunners password so he can order some food if he wants, and Curtis sets up the door lock to let him in if he needs to go out for whatever reason.

 

“So we usually get home around a quarter to six, but I think we’re going to go by the grocery store on the way home,” Curtis says as he’s doing that. “And on Mondays I  _ usually  _ make dinner but...” He gives the busted fridge and the cooler sitting in front of it the hairy side-eye. “I... think we’ll probably go out tonight. We’ll pick somewhere quiet this time, okay?”

 

“Okay.” Adam nods and sticks his nose into a cup of coffee. “Think I’ll be all right now but... yeah, maybe not the noisy pizza place.”

 

“You got it.” Takashi pats him on the shoulder. “Call us if anything goes haywire.”

 

Then Curtis and Takashi take off, leaving Adam with the whole house to himself.

 

The fridge guy’s arrival window doesn’t open for a few more hours, so Adam sips his coffee and dozes in the recliner. He might still wake up with the sun, but the sun isn’t awake yet.

 

After a while the caffeine starts to kick in a little, and he finds himself more awake than asleep. So he turns on the TV and flips around through the early morning news and the reruns and the cartoons--huh, there’s a Voltron cartoon? Adam watches it for a few minutes, but ends up having to flip away. It was clearly made in the early days after the end of the invasion, because the production values are somewhere in the neighborhood of “first year animation student’s homework.” And that’s understandable, he’s sure budgets were tight then. But the voice acting ranges from “meh” to “physically painful” and for reasons Adam cannot even begin to theorize about this fucking early in the morning, the character he guesses is supposed to be Takashi is named “Sven” and has a bad Swedish accent.

 

He flips over one of the music channels and gets up to stretch his legs. He checks out the models taking over the bookshelves--Takashi said he builds the models, and Curtis builds the scenery. There’s a lot of nice fine detail work in both, and while it’s easy enough to picture Curtis carefully planting tiny fake trees in a patch of fake grass, it’s a little harder to imagine Takashi sitting at a workbench with a pair of tweezers carefully fitting the trim onto that car or painting details onto that old fighter jet with a brush that’s little more than two or three hairs on a stick. He’s always had a lot of patience, sure, just not  _ that  _ kind of patience.

 

And yet there’s the evidence, right in front of him.

 

_ He really  _ has  _ changed,  _ Adam thinks.

 

He wanders over to the fireplace and all of those pictures on either side of it, all those pictures of Curtis and Takashi with their families and friends and each other. And with  _ him.  _

 

_ They both missed you,  _ Keith had told him on the colony.  _ Trust me. When you go over to their house, you’ll see. _

 

They haven’t taken any of the pictures of him down. Not that Adam really expected them to, but he would have understood if they did. Especially that one on the mantel. 

 

That one catches his eye and holds on to it for a long, long time. It was right after they all graduated, him and Takashi and Curtis and Veronica, and they all took that day trip to the Grand Canyon. He and Takashi were dating at that point, right? He’s sure of it. But for some reason, he’s standing behind Curtis and Takashi, and he’s got an arm around both of their shoulders and he’s... kind of pulling them all together.

 

Huh. 

 

He knows there must have been a reason why he did that, but it’s not coming to him right now. Still, it’d be nice to have a copy of that. Even better--he goes back to the guest room to fetch his phone, comes back in, takes the picture down to put it somewhere with better lighting, and snaps a picture of it. Then he sets it back on the mantel. As he does, his fingertips brush the little plastic case taped to the back of the frame.

 

He remembers some of the things he said on that video, and some of it is... well, kind of embarrassing now. But it got the job done, and that’s all that matters in the end.

 

Adam wanders down the hall to the model room. It reminds him of his parents’ arts-n-crafts room, 3D printer setup and all. There are little jars of various colors of sand and fake turf powder and snow powder stacked up along the back of the work table. There’s paint and glue and rulers and tiny sculpting tools and polymer clay and putty and resin and all that stuff, all neatly organized and labeled in Curtis’ handwriting. There’s a finished model of an old F-16 fighter sitting on the work table, and next to it is a work in progress. Most of the little dioramas on the bookshelf are outdoor scenes, but Curtis is trying a hangar this time. It looks great so far, right down to the grates and markings and faint grease stains on the faux concrete floor--no, not fake, that’s actual concrete. There’s a little tub of the mix lined up with the sand and turf powder and stuff.

 

He leaves the model room and--oh shit.

 

He knows he shouldn’t snoop. He knows that. But the door to the master bedroom is open, and Adam can’t quite resist the urge to just peek inside. 

 

The walls are painted a soft gray-blue and decorated with a few space photos. The curtains are darker blue. So is the thick comforter neatly pulled up over the queen bed. The nest of pillows at the head of the bed are various shades of blue and purple and gray. 

 

There’s a purple water bottle, half full, and some hobby magazines on the nightstand closest to the door. On the other, there’s a blue water bottle, almost empty, and a tube of lip balm. Adam can’t read it from the doorway, but he knows it’s probably chocolate mint flavor. He doesn’t open the drawers, God no, he wasn’t raised in a fucking barn, but it’s easy enough to imagine what might be in them.

 

Adam remembers the migraine pills Takashi kept in his. He doesn’t need those anymore, does he? He doesn’t need the charger for his electrostimulator either. He probably still has one of those little handheld game systems in there, though. A pair of toenail clippers. A dish for all the stuff that goes in his pockets. A change jar. Assorted letters and photos.

 

Curtis kept a spare Epi-pen in his. And some tissues and over-the-counter pills and eyedrops in case he woke up with his milder allergies kicking his ass. A book or two, usually swords-n-dragons stuff or some of that ridiculous parody erotica about guys getting rawed by sentient jet planes and personified abstract concepts and shit. God, it was always fun when Curtis got hold of a new one of those. Sometimes he’d read them to Adam just to see how far in he could get before he lost his entire shit and broke down into hysterical snort-laughing or else they ended up--

 

And thinking about that brings Adam to the other stuff Curtis kept in the top drawer of his nightstand, and the other stuff Takashi kept in  _ his,  _ and he feels heat flood his cheeks and his stomach.

 

_ Nope,  _ he tells himself firmly.  _ Nope. Nope. Nope. Married men. Don’t need to go there.  _

 

Still... 

 

He feels weird and kind of creepy just thinking about this and he’s suddenly glad he decided at the last second not to get into that subject in the video, but he can’t help but wonder if they’re as ... _ compatible  _ as he suspected they might be--

 

The doorbell rings then, and Adam swears he feels his heart jump out of his chest and bounce off down the hall to hide under the guest bed.  _ Shit.  _ Okay. Probably just the fridge guy.  _ Come on, Wolf,  _ he thinks. _ Pull it together. _

 

He answers the door and finds that the fridge guy is actually a fridge gal. “Oh, hi,” she says, tool bag in one hand and tablet in the other. “Mr. Shirogane?”

 

“Uh...” Something about hearing himself called that name, even by mistake, makes Adam’s heart kind of draw in on itself for a moment. He clears his throat and shakes it off. “I’m a friend of theirs, actually, they have to work today, so... come on in?”

 

The fridge gal gets to work and Adam plops down on the recliner and watches TV and returns the little volleys of small talk, grateful for the distraction and a little worried about where his thoughts were headed just a few minutes ago.

 

* * *

 

“We just bought all this shit,” Shiro sighs as he and Curtis unload the groceries from the car. The milk. The eggs. The half and half. The bacon. The ice cream. The mayo. No chicken, though. Too late to do fajitas tonight, and Adam is probably moving out tomorrow so they’ll have to do it another time anyway.

 

“I know,” Curtis sighs back, hanging another bag of groceries on Shiro’s right hand. “Let’s hope that was just a fluke--careful, that’s the eggs. You’re not really going to carry all of it.”

 

“I am absolutely going to carry all of it,” Shiro replies with his biggest, shit-eatingest grin, and Curtis just laughs and rolls his eyes. “Just get the door?”

 

Curtis does, and Shiro follows him in, and the unexpected scent of lemons and carpet freshener stops them in their tracks. The dishwasher is running. The vacuum cleaner is running in what Shiro guesses is the guest room.

 

“Aw,  _ Adam--”  _ Curtis groans. Shiro has a good idea why. The kitchen is spotless. So is the living room. “Hey! Adam!” He takes off towards the sound of the running vacuum.

 

_ Shit.  _ Shiro can’t do much of anything about this until he loses the groceries. He opens the fridge and heaves a sigh of relief as a wall of cold air rushes out to greet him. The inside of the fridge smells fresher than one might expect a two-days-broken fridge to, and the few items that survived the fridgepocalypse are neatly arranged on the shelves.

 

The sound of the vacuum cleaner stops as Shiro is putting the ice cream away, and a minute later Curtis gently marches Adam into the living room by the shoulders. 

 

“Guess who spent most of the day cleaning the house,” Curtis accuses, just as gently, and Adam hangs his head.

 

“Look,” Adam says, “it just  _ happened.  _ The fridge smelled kind of funky after the fridge gal got it running again, so I wiped it out before I put the stuff up. And then I figured, shit, I might as well sweep the floor and wipe the counters and stuff since I was in there, and then--” He throws up his hands. “Hey, c’mon, I was bored.”

 

“Okay.” Shiro can’t help but laugh a little. “It’s okay. I mean, we appreciate it? And if you were that bored, okay, that’s fine, but you know you don’t have to do that.”

 

“Yeah, but I ordered some lunch off your NomRunners account.”

 

“Good! That’s why we gave you the password,” Curtis chimes in. “Hey, we’re going to put this stuff up, and then we’re going to put normal clothes on, and then we’re going out for dinner. Get your shoes on.”

 

Adam rolls his eye and groans and stomps off towards the guest room like a sullen teenager. It’d be kind of hilarious if Shiro wasn’t so worried.

 

* * *

 

Okay, he didn’t clean the  _ whole  _ house, that’s something. 

 

The kitchen plus the cooler airing out on the patio. The living room. The guest room and the hall bathroom. That’s all he did. But the point is that  _ he didn’t have to do any of it, _ and the way Adam seems compelled to make himself useful is starting to make Shiro nervous as hell. 

 

Maybe he’ll shake that off once he’s in his own place.

 

They take him to that Italian place they all like this time. It’s Monday night and it’s a grown-up restaurant with no video games and no TVs blaring sportsball games and it’s quiet, and Adam does fine. 

 

He keeps up with the conversation, and he doesn’t flinch or jump at the sounds from the other tables, and he doesn’t make a run for the door at any point. So... he’s probably okay, right?

 

Right.

 

But he does that thing again, Shiro notices. That thing where he looks away from one of them like he’s caught himself staring, or like he’s afraid  _ they’re  _ going to catch him staring. 

 

Shiro watches him do that a couple of times, almost says something, decides this isn’t the time and it’s definitely not the place. Maybe he should say something to Curtis later.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t. He almost does, while they’re lying in bed that night. It won’t come out.

 

Later--much later, weeks later--he’ll understand why, and he’ll wish he’d said it.

 

For now, he just snuggles back against Curtis and tries to sleep.

 

* * *

 

By the next afternoon, Adam has his ID, a set of uniforms, an appointment to talk to Command about what he’s going to be doing (and hopefully, what he’s going to be flying and when he can start flying it) and a room in the officers’ dorm. It’s been nice staying with Curtis and Takashi, but he feels like he’s starting to overstay his welcome despite their assurance that he’s not.

 

They help him move in after they get off work, but there’s not much to move and it all fits in the back of Curtis’ truck with room to spare. His uniforms. His Earth clothes. His colony clothes, which he’s keeping because they’re still perfectly good and very comfortable and great for lounging around in. His keyboard and laptop and phone. His old waffle iron, which Curtis and Takashi insisted he take back even though it’s technically not allowed in the dorm. It takes the three of them one trip to get it all into the room, probably would have even if Takashi couldn’t carry all of his uniforms and clothes with that one hand.

 

They still feel terrible about getting rid of so much of his stuff. They shouldn’t, and he tells them that, over and over. Really, other than the studio stuff and the pictures most of it was just stuff he didn’t really need but never got around to hauling off to Goodwill. But they did give him the memory cards they found. Maybe later he’ll go through them and print some of the pictures out and dress up these bare walls.

 

Adam’s back pay hasn’t landed in his account yet and won’t for another week or so, but his parents dropped enough in there for him to get some necessities so he won’t have to wait until he starts getting paid again. Coffee maker and coffee to make with it. Soap and shampoo and all that stuff. Some decent sheets and blankets to replace the cheap crappy ones that came with the room. Some speakers for his phone and laptop.

 

He gets all his stuff set up and put away and puts his new sheets and blankets on the bed and flops down on his back. Ahh. Finally. His own space again. All to himself. He can eat crackers in bed and listen to whatever music he wants without worrying that it won’t be to everyone’s taste and walk around in his underwear and without his eyepatch and there’s nobody else around to say shit about it.

 

It doesn’t feel like home, though. It doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t smell right. It’s too bare and empty and sterile. It feels like a motel room. Maybe he should get some plants or a betta fish or something, and maybe one of those essential oil diffuser thingies and something evergreen-y to put in it. Maybe that would help. 

 

For now, he gets his phone out and tabs over to that folder of stuff Curtis put on it for him. There’s a “relaxing sounds” app, and with a little tinkering Adam cobbles together a nice combination of wind through leaves and distant stream and nocturnal critters. It’s not quite the same as the natural symphony he fell asleep listening to on the colony every night, but it’s close enough to put some warmth into this room.

 

He patches it through to the speaker in his bedroom, turns off the light, and tries to sleep. 

 

* * *

 

It should be a relief to have the house to themselves again, Curtis thinks later that night. 

 

Of course they both still care about Adam. Of course they’ve been glad to let him stay over. And of course it’ll be great to have him over again for dinner or whatever now and then. But having houseguests does kind of require a little extra consideration about certain things. Not just the frisky things either. Mundane stuff like the music they play or the TV shows they watch or the food they make or order or go out for. Or how long they spend holed up in the model room instead of being sociable. Or how much noise they make in the morning when they’re getting ready to go.

 

So it should be a relief to not have to worry about that anymore. And it is, for a while. 

 

Still...

 

It’s a little scary, Curtis thinks again, how quickly he’s gotten used to Adam being back and how weirdly quiet and still the house feels with him gone again. 

 

But again, he thinks as they’re getting ready for bed, that’s probably pretty normal considering everything that’s happened. He’s glad to have his friend back, and he’s just a little sad to not have that friend under his roof now. That’s all it is. And it’s not like Adam has disappeared back out into space, he’s right there in the officers’ dorm and they’ll see each other at the chow hall and after work and on the weekends all the time just like they used to. And maybe Adam isn't up to actually playing the piano yet, but he can sing and the chorus could definitely use him. It'll be fine.  Curtis knows he'll see Adam again, soon and often, and the house only feels as empty as it does tonight because he's gotten so used to it  _ not  _ being empty these last few days. 

 

That’s all. 

 

He settles into bed, wraps his arm around Takashi’s waist, and kisses him goodnight. 

 

In a couple of days he’ll be used to this. It’ll all feel normal again.

 

Of course it will.

 

* * *

 

_ Curtis? _

 

Takashi’s voice, soft and drowsy through the fog of sleep and at the same time, sharp with worry.

 

_ Hey. Are you-- _ Pause.  _ Shit. Wake up, baby. _

 

What’s wrong? Why is Takashi telling him to wake up?

 

“Curtis!”

 

_ “Huh!”  _ The tone of Takashi’s voice snaps Curtis awake more than the hand shaking him. He wasn’t having a nightmare. He’s sure of that much. But his heart is still pounding in his ears and his breath is still ragged and--oh.  _ Oh.  _ Oh no. No, definitely not a nightmare, and now that bits and pieces of the dream are starting to fit themselves back together in his waking mind... oh  _ no. _

 

Takashi eyes him carefully, hand still resting on his chest. “You okay, baby?”

 

“Uh...” Curtis puffs out a breath. Yes. He’s okay. Disoriented, bewildered, and--and desperately, wall-climbingly horny. Which, he guesses, counts as “okay” as long as he doesn’t think too much about what he was dreaming about. “Yeah. I, um. Yeah.”

 

Takashi doesn’t take that hand off him, doesn’t stop watching him. “Bad dream?”

 

“Uh...” A helpless little laugh bubbles up out of Curtis, and Takashi looks even more concerned. “...no?”

 

Takashi looks him over carefully in the blue-white light of his shoulder. And then his gaze skims down below Curtis’ waist. He tries so hard to keep a straight face but he can’t, not entirely. “Oof. So, uh...  _ good  _ dream.” He scratches nervously at the back of his head, and crimson spreads across his cheeks. “Sorry, babe--I woke you up right at the best part too, huh?”

 

Another little helpless laugh, and if Takashi notices the desperate edge in it he has the decency to not call it out. “Uh huh,” Curtis whimpers.

 

A slow grin creeps across Takashi’s face and that alone might be enough to snap the last little thread of Curtis’ self-control but the combination of that grin and the lingering drowsiness in his eyes--it’s almost too much. Curtis swallows hard--it’s late, Takashi might not want to--

 

“Can I make it up to you?” he purrs, and oh. Oh. Oh  _ God,  _ that’s all Curtis can stand. 

 

He doesn’t answer that. Not with words, anyway. He just shoves his shorts down with one hand and pulls Takashi on top of him with the other; somewhere in between Takashi gets his own pajama pants out of the way. This isn’t normally how Curtis would prefer to do this, but right now he doesn’t care and he can’t be bothered with the technicalities of lube and whatnot--he just needs Takashi however he can get him,  _ right now.  _

 

(it helps that this is nothing like what he was just dreaming about, but never mind that--)

 

Curtis gently sweeps the lingering memories of the dream aside for now. He’ll deal with ...whatever that was later. Right now he focuses on his husband, warm and heavy on top of him; the taste of his skin, the sound of his breath, the ghost of his aftershave, the faint stubble along his jaw and the thick muscles working in his shoulders and his back and his stomach, and that’s enough. He doesn’t need anything else. Just the heat of Takashi’s skin against his and the weight of his body pressing in just the right places. But then Takashi pushes up onto his hands and that slight change of angle--oh  _ God-- _

 

It doesn’t take long. It never does when Curtis is this worked up, and he’s never really stopped feeling self-conscious about that. But as he always does, Takashi assures him that it’s fine. Not verbally, not this time, but the point gets across.

 

“You’re gonna have to tell me what you were dreaming about, y’know,” Takashi teases after they’ve caught their breath and cleaned up, as he settles back into bed and snuggles back against Curtis’ chest. “Must have been hot.”

 

“Yeah,” Curtis laughs, and he hopes Takashi doesn’t pick up on the little edge of discomfort in it. “Maybe some other time. Too late to go there on a work night.” He  _ will  _ tell Takashi all about it, but not tonight. Later. Months later. For now he lies awake listening to Takashi’s breath, idly stroking a thumb back and forth over his shoulder, trying not to think too much about that dream.

 

He’s had it before.

 

He hasn’t had it in a long time. Not since Takashi got sick, for sure; maybe even before that. But he’s had it before.

 

_ It was just a dream,  _ Curtis tells himself firmly, trying to gently push the images and sounds out of his head, trying not to think about the things he was doing, or the things Takashi was doing, or Adam between them with his legs wrapped around Curtis’ waist and his head leaned back against Takashi’s shoulder and his voice shaped into both of their names. 

 

It was just a dream. 

 

It doesn’t mean anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned into an absolute monster and ended up having to be split in twain. So the parts I've been apologizing in advance for will actually hit in the NEXT chapter. :}


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trouble starts when he gets a combat mission against a Galra fighter. 
> 
> There’s only one of them, not the swarms of them Adam remembers pouring out of the warships. And it’s been retextured, since the only Galra fighters anyone here might ever have to engage these days are the ones the space pirates scavenged. But it’s close enough to the last thing he saw before the world burst into flames and blinding light and the smell of burning plastic and metal and flesh to make Adam’s heart skip a few beats and by the time he pulls himself together, it’s too late. He fails the mission.
> 
> “It’s okay,” Takashi says. “I know.” 
> 
> Is that pity in his voice? That’s the last thing Adam wants. “Run it again,” he says through his teeth.

_All right,_ Adam thinks. _This should be painless._

 

Just walk in there, make some small talk, get asked a few questions, get told where to report starting tomorrow morning, thank them for their time, and get back to some kind of normal damn life back on Earth.

 

He’s shaved even though he didn’t really need to today and pressed his uniform and polished his boots and pulled his hair back into the neatest braid he can manage without an extra set of eyes and hands. He doesn’t have a whole lot of documentation about where he’s been and what he’s been doing, but he gave a pretty thorough debrief statement on the _Atlas_ and got that checkup in medbay and got his eye fixed and he figures that should be enough to make them happy.

 

It starts off with the small talk and pleasantries and _it’s good to have you back_ and so on. It’s cordial enough on the surface, though right away Adam can feel some strain in the dynamic. It doesn’t help that what’s-his-face at the far end of the table is now sporting a fourth stripe on that unzipped jacket that looks like he slept in it--for fuck’s sake, one would think the guy could take a half-assed stab at meeting the uniform standards for this. At least he could have combed his hair.

 

They go over the report he gave and ask for clarification on bits and pieces of it. They ask a few questions about the other survivors, and whether he knows where the rebel ship was supposed to be heading and what they were supposed to do once it got there. _It’s all right there in the report,_ he thinks, but he answers to the best of his ability anyway.

 

Then they start asking him about the prison ship. Which, again, is all right there in the fucking report. What he remembers, anyway. No, maybe he didn’t give a fine-grained description of every single thing he remembers, but it’s all there.

 

Doesn’t stop them from asking. Doesn’t stop them from pressing for more details.

 

Were there any other humans on board? Any from his squadron? Any other than the two he remembers seeing in his cell? What happened to _them?_ Is there any chance they could have survived as well? 

 

Is he sure?

 

Is he sure Durva told him the truth when he asked?

 

Did he try to escape? Did he try to locate the other members of his squadron?

 

He answers as honestly as he can and tries to keep the annoyance out of his voice but the fact is, _he doesn’t fucking remember most of this_ and the things he does remember are things he doesn’t want to describe in detail and the longer this meeting drags on, the more it starts to feel like an interrogation. They keep asking him the same questions, rephrased in various ways they seem to think might magically make him remember more, and he thinks it might actually be easier if they’d just cut the bullshit and accuse him of lying. 

 

He finally asks them point blank if that’s what they’re trying to do. They assure him it’s not. He’s not convinced. 

 

Then they rephrase the question of whether or not he tried to escape again.

 

Fuck it. They want to know, he’ll tell them. He tells them he did what he could. He tells them it wasn’t much, considering he was alone in a cell with solid metal walls, floor, and ceiling and the only way out was through a door that couldn’t be opened from the inside and into a corridor heavily patrolled by sentry robots and live guards, and he didn’t have so much as a plastic spork to his name. He tells them that at the time he didn’t even know he was on a ship, much less where it was or where it was headed, much less how to get back to Earth or even contact the Garrison. He tells them they’d patched him up just enough to keep him alive, fed him just enough dirty water and rotting slop to keep him alive, and the one time he did have it in him to fight back verbally they held him down and whipped him until they got bored and then they threw him back in his cell. 

 

He asks them if there are any more specifics they want about his time on the prison ship. 

 

After a long, uncomfortable pause--well, not so uncomfortable for Adam, and he notes with some dark satisfaction that a few of them look slightly ill--they change the subject.

 

They ask if he has any documentation--flight data, cockpit voice recording, witness statements, anything to corroborate his account of the crash on that unnamed planet in that unnamed system. Of course he doesn’t. They know good and goddamn well he doesn’t.

 

It’s not that they don’t believe him, they assure him again, and Adam feels a muscle in his jaw twitch. It’d just be good to have that on the record and all, he understands, doesn’t he?

 

He does understand. He doesn’t like where any of this is going, but he understands.

 

They ask him if it might have been possible to repair the freighter and get it back underway, and he laughs out loud. They don’t laugh. He doesn’t care. It’s such a stupid question he can’t help it. He reminds them that it had major hull damage and was missing an engine when he landed it, and he tells them in no uncertain terms that they did not have the tools, equipment, facilities, or knowledge to scratch-build a whole freighter engine from salvaged and locally sourced materials. They ask him if it might have been possible to repair the comm equipment. He tells them in no uncertain terms that people who knew a lot more about that equipment than he did said it wasn’t and the best they could do was jury-rig what was left of it into that distress beacon Keith eventually picked up.

 

And then, after an agonizingly long silence, they ask him if he’s familiar with the Garrison’s medical standards for flight duty. 

 

They know he is. He knows why they’re asking.

 

_Fuck._

 

* * *

 

Shiro doesn’t expect Adam’s meeting with Command to take long. He figures Adam will just go in there and answer a few questions as a formality, and then they’ll decide what to do with him. But he’s halfway through his last class before lunch and he still hasn’t felt his phone buzz in his pocket. It’s not until just a few minutes before the end of that class that he finally gets a text. As the cadets start getting their stuff together to leave, he sneaks a peek at the screen and finds a text from Adam.

 

 _Finally._ What the hell took so long? Once the cadets clear out, Shiro double-times it to his office and shuts the door so he can read this in peace, because if that meeting took that long Adam probably has a lot to say about whatever happened, for better or worse.

 

But he doesn’t. _I’m done,_ is all the text says.

 

Well. That’s less than informative. _How’d it go?_

 

There’s a long pause. Far too long for the single word Shiro finally gets back.

 

_Bad._

 

Ah, shit. 

 

Shiro isn’t surprised. He wishes he was. He still has a lot of questions and a lot of things he wants to say and in the back of his mind he’s running strategy, trying to come up with a way to help but in the end, he just asks Adam one question: _Where are you right now?_

 

The reply comes and Shiro stares at it for a moment, horrified, before he jumps up and bolts out the door. Dammit, of all the times for Adam to decide to do this to himself he has to pick _now--_

 

It’s not far, and thank God for that, and Shiro doesn’t know if Curtis is going to see it in time to meet them but he shoots off a text anyway and hopes like hell one of them gets there before this gets any worse.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t like Adam made a point of coming to see this damn wall right now, but it was close by and there are benches where he can sit and collect his thoughts and try to figure out what the hell he’s going to do with himself until the new term starts in the fall. Because unless they need him to sub, he’s going to have a lot of free time until then. 

 

He’s grounded. Probably for good.

 

He should go back to his room, he thinks. Or go get some lunch at the chow hall. Go anywhere but here, do anything but sit in front of this wall. But the longer he sits there, the more compelled he feels to get up and take a closer look.

 

He sees his own name first. 

 

Looking at that plaque and his own picture and his own name feels like walking over his own grave. He imagines Curtis and Takashi leaving flowers and black licorice here and he shudders, just a little. 

 

He looks for the other names and finds them. 

 

_Michael M._

 

_Isabel Y._

 

Both of them were in his cell, for a while. He doesn’t know how long. It couldn’t have been too long. They were both in bad shape, McCarley might have already been dead, he doesn’t know. He couldn’t move. He could barely see. It was dark in there and he could barely keep himself conscious for a few minutes at a time.

 

_Trinh N._

 

_Aaron J._

 

_Evan A._

 

Those three were fresh out of the academy. They couldn’t even buy their own beer yet.

 

_Sanjay S._

 

_Zachary D._

 

They’d both gotten married in the last year.

 

_Renata M._

 

Married with two kids. The older one wanted to be a pilot like his mom. The younger one hadn’t taken her first steps yet.

 

_Vincent R._

 

_Stephen R._

 

_Jae P._

 

They were a year behind Adam and Takashi at the academy. They'd had some classes together. They'd flown sim missions together.

 

They’re all gone. 

 

All except Adam. He got to come back. His family gets to have him home for Christmas. His friends get to hang out with him. Their families have nothing but this damn wall and maybe empty graves in their hometowns. Maybe they got statues of their own there. Maybe there are schools named after them, or streets, or parks. Adam hopes so. They deserve to be remembered. If they had to die for nothing, the least they deserve is to be remembered.

 

And then Adam notices a plaque bearing a name and face that, going by everything he remembers about that day and everything he heard about what happened after he was taken, should not even be on this fucking wall alongside all these brave people who died trying to protect their planet. 

 

_Ellen S._

 

Adam stares at that plaque like he’s trying to melt it off the wall with his gaze. He hears a weird creaking grinding noise and realizes it’s coming from his own teeth. Out of the corner of his eye he sees movement, someone in an orange uniform, and he hears a few words from that same direction in the last voice he wants to hear right now. There are a few words he’d like to say back, words like _coward_ and _traitor_ among the more socially acceptable ones, but nothing comes out. Seeing Sanda’s name and picture here is a slap in the face. To him, to the rest of his squadron, to their friends and families. At least twelve of these names--including his own--are on this wall because of her. She knew their weapons wouldn’t do shit and she sent them out anyway, and Adam does not believe for one second that he and his squadron were the only ones she did that to.

 

How many more? 

 

How many more bodies did she try to throw at Sendak, knowing damn well it wouldn’t do any good?

 

How many more of these names are on this wall because she couldn’t stomach the thought that she might be wrong about something?

 

Iverson says something next to him, some more small talk or some shit. Adam tries to ignore him. Adam honestly tries his absolute damndest to ignore him.

 

He needs to walk away. From Iverson, from the goddamn wall, from all of this. He knows that. He knows it perfectly well. Walk away. Find something constructive to do. Take it out on a treadmill or a stack of weights or a training dummy. He knows standing here seething isn’t going to bring any of them back and it isn’t going to do anyone any good, least of all him, especially after what just happened in that fucking meeting. But his feet are rooted to the spot and he can’t make them move.

 

And then Iverson opens his mouth and lets something fall out of it that Adam _can’t_ ignore.

 

Later, he won’t remember exactly what it was. He thinks it was something along the lines of _damn shame what happened to you and your squadron,_ and the words were bad enough but the delivery, the way he stood there and said that like he had nothing to do with what happened to Adam and his squadron, like he hadn’t given them the fucking order himself--he thinks _that’s_ probably what turned the whole world red.

 

Up to this point in his life, Adam has only thrown two punches he really meant. He’d planned them both. 

 

He didn’t plan this one, not really. He may have had the thought casually wander across his mind once or twice, and he may have found it somewhat amusing to daydream about for a minute or two here and there, but he sure didn’t wake up this morning with will and intent to actually for real deck Captain Mitchell Fucking Iverson right between the eyes next time they crossed paths. He doesn’t even realize he’s thrown the punch until his vision clears and he sees Iverson topple backwards onto his ass and hears Takashi shout something and feels the sting in his knuckles and the metal forearm across his chest. Iverson is down and not coming at him to return fire so Adam has no reason to hit him again, but he understands why Takashi feels the need to hold him back.

 

He didn’t plan on throwing this punch. But he absolutely meant it.

 

Adam can’t bring himself to give a shit about what’s going to happen next, or who might have been watching other than Takashi, or how much trouble he’s going to get into for this. Not even when the adrenaline cuts off and his legs start shaking and Takashi catches up to his arm and gently takes hold of both of Adam’s shoulders.

 

“Okay.” Takashi keeps his hands on Adam and his eyes on Iverson and steers Adam towards a bench. “I know. It’s okay. Come sit down.”

 

“Go ahead,” Adam spits, even as he’s cursing himself for taking that kind of tone with Takashi of all people. “Tell me I shouldn’t have done that.”

 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Takashi deadpans. Adam glances up, and he sees just the faintest hint of a smile tugging at one corner of Takashi’s mouth. “There. I said it.” He lets his hand slide off Adam’s shoulder. “Stay right here, okay? I’ll handle it.”

 

Iverson isn’t bleeding, and there’s a look on his face that indicates surprise at that. He’s probably going to have a bruise that’s going to raise a lot of interesting questions tomorrow, but it wouldn’t be the first time. 

 

Takashi helps Iverson up and then stands there, arms crossed, to hear his side of this. Despite everything, Adam snorts out a little dry laugh as he watches Takashi talk to, or possibly _at,_ Iverson. He’s not yelling. But there’s a look on Takashi’s face Adam has seen plenty of times--the look he’d get when one of his cadets put off their essays or projects or whatever until the last second for no good reason and then tried to beg for an extension or a morsel of extra credit. The one that says _I’ll hear you out but that’s all the sympathy you’re getting from me._ Takashi and Iverson exchange a few more words, then Iverson just turns, gives Adam a nod, and goes on his way, and Takashi heads back over and sits down.

 

“All right,” he says, flesh-and-blood hand on Adam’s back. “He’s going to let it go. He knows he said something shitty and nobody whose opinion matters more than his or mine saw anything, so...” He gives Adam a little pat. “I’m asking you as a friend--please don’t do that again. He’s not worth your career.”

 

“I won’t.” Actually, Adam is not completely sure he won’t, not if Iverson ever runs his mouth like that again. But with him on the _Atlas_ and Adam at the academy, it’s not likely they’ll cross paths all that often anymore anyway. And no. Takashi is right. Iverson _isn’t_ worth his career. What’s left of his career, anyway. 

 

“He did say something kind of weird, though.” Adam glances over, and he sees a strange little smile on Takashi’s face. “Something about you trying to go to bat for a cadet that punched you once. He never understood why you did that until now.” He pats Adam’s shoulder again. “Yeah. Keith told me.”

 

Adam opens his mouth to say something about that when he sees some movement in an orange uniform out of the corner of his eye again. For a split second he thinks Iverson is actually coming back to try his luck a second time, and maybe Adam promised to not hit him again but he didn’t say _shit_ about verbal beatdowns. He turns to deliver that very thing and before a word can come out, he sees who it actually is.

 

“Hey,” Curtis says, concern on his face, glancing over his shoulder. “Did y’all see Iverson? He looks like someone--” He shuts up quickly, his big blue eyes widening in dawning horror as he takes in the scene before him and realizes what must have happened before he showed up. “...oh. Oh, _shit.”_

 

* * *

 

Adam doesn’t say a word while Curtis drives him back to the dorm and walks him back to his room, and Curtis doesn’t try to pry any words out of him. He does promise that he and Takashi will come by later with pizza or something so Adam won’t have to deal with the chow hall. For now Takashi has to get back to his class and Curtis needs to get back to work.

 

Adam wants to tell him it’s fine, they have things to do, they don’t have to come over and cheer him up, but in the end he just nods and sighs “okay” to all of this. Curtis pats him on the shoulder and takes off.

 

His room still feels like a motel room. He hasn’t gotten around to printing out any of the pictures, hasn’t gotten around to getting those plants or that fish, hasn’t gotten around to getting something that smells good. 

 

Punching Iverson should have made him feel better, and it did--for about half a second. But it doesn’t change anything. 

 

He trudges off to the bedroom, strips his uniform off and flops it over the back of the chair, and puts on some sweatpants and a T-shirt.

 

He goes back to the main room, collapses onto the couch, and opens up his laptop, looking for something to watch that doesn’t require a lot of brainpower to process. 

 

He spends the rest of the afternoon binge-watching Bob Ross and trying to concentrate on the happy trees, but his mind keeps wandering into territory that’s less than happy and probably less than healthy.

 

He didn’t ask Curtis and Takashi to come over. He wouldn’t have asked. He doesn’t mind that they’re going to, he doesn’t mind that in and of itself. But they’re giving up their evening to come keep him company just because he had a shitty day. This, after he’s been staying in their house and eating their food and using their wi-fi, after they’ve been buying him groceries and driving him around and helping him move and spending so damn much of their time with him when they could be spending it with each other...

 

They don’t have to do this. They don’t have to go to this much trouble for him. And he’s just about made up his mind to tell them that when they knock on his door. His resolve just sort of leaks out of him when he opens it and sees them standing there with pizza. 

 

Not today. Today, he needs the company and he knows it.

 

* * *

 

There’s not much for Adam to tell them about the meeting itself. Not much he _wants_ to tell them, anyway. If it was just Takashi maybe he’d feel a little more comfortable bitching at greater length and in greater detail about all the questions they asked him about the prison ship, but Curtis... Curtis doesn’t need to hear that. He _does_ talk a great deal of shit about what’s-his-face looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, and Takashi snorts derisively. Even Curtis--sweet, gentle Curtis who never has an unkind word to say about anyone--even Curtis has a few unkind words to say about that fucking guy.

 

“So that’s it,” Adam sighs at the end of his short and not very sweet account. “I start teaching full time again in the fall. Till then, I’m a sub. That’s all they think I’m good for.”

 

Curtis pats his back and makes some little reassuring noises, but Takashi... 

 

Adam has seen this look before, too.

 

It’s the look he got on his face when the doctor told him he might have three years of a normal life left if he was lucky. That set in his jaw and that flash in his eyes that said _well we’ll just see about that now won’t we._

 

“So,” he starts, “am I to understand that they aren’t letting you fly _anything?”_

 

“That’s what they said. No fighters, no cargo. I can’t even fly backseat in the fucking trainers with the cadets.” 

 

“Did they even look at your record? There’s got to be some kind of appeal process, I mean, considering--”

 

“There’s not. I asked.” He shrugs. “So that’s it. There’s nothing I can do.”

 

Takashi’s eyes narrow.

 

“There might be something _I_ can do.”

 

Adam can’t help but snort out a dry little laugh. “You know someone that can get me a new eye? How about my hand?”

 

Takashi opens his mouth to answer that, apparently thinks better of it, and closes it again. Well, they fixed _him,_ but from what Adam understands it took a whole new body to... yeah, better not go there. “They want proof that you can still fly?” Takashi asks instead. “Let’s give them some.”

 

Adam is so taken aback by this he actually forgets to be pissed off for a second. “Do _what now?”_

 

“Look. Part of my job now is deciding who’s ready to fly the real thing and who isn’t. If I tell them you are, they’ll listen. I have a short day tomorrow so meet me in the sim bay after lunch. Give me some knockout scores, and I will _personally_ go wave them at Command and tell them to put your ass back in a pilot seat.” Curtis gives Takashi a look--it’s there and gone, but Adam catches the concern in it. He’s not sure about this, is what that look says, but he doesn’t really know what else to suggest. Takashi catches it too, and he gives Curtis just the tiniest little nod. “Just warning you--we’ll do the MFE sim for now because that’s what you were used to, but we need cargo pilots more than fighter pilots these days. So if and when you do get back in the air you’ll probably be--”

 

“That’s fine,” Adam snaps. It’s actually not. There’s nothing shameful about flying cargo, despite what some of the cadets think. Of course there’s not. It’s just not what Adam does and it’s certainly not what he wants to do now. But if it’s cargo or nothing then okay, he’ll take fucking cargo. 

 

“Okay.” Takashi nods and claps him on the shoulder. 

 

“Hey,” Curtis says then. “Why don’t you come to rehearsal this week? I know you’re not up to playing yet but you can still sing, right?”

 

Adam rolls his eye and makes a face and lets out a long, exasperated groan. Takashi clamps a hand over his mouth to keep his pizza in there. Curtis just beams.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes. I mean... it’ll get you out of here--” Curtis waves a hand to indicate the room with its still-bare walls--”for a little while. It’s something to do.”

 

Yeah, that’s true. And Adam _is_ a little curious about just how bad the new accompanist really is. 

 

* * *

 

All the way home, Shiro can feel it hanging in the air between them. He can feel Curtis trying to process what he wants to say, choosing the gentlest possible words, and Shiro has a pretty good idea what he’s trying to find the words for.

 

When they walk in the door and kick off their shoes, Curtis lays a hand on his back.

 

“I’m... not really sure the sim thing is a good idea,” he says, in a tone of voice that suggests he isn’t sure there _is_ a good idea for dealing with Adam’s situation right now.

 

“I’m not either.” Shiro sits down on the couch and pulls Curtis over to sit with him. “But I don’t know what else to do. He wants to fly, I’m in a position where I can help him with that, and...” He takes Curtis’ hand in both of his. “We’ll just run a couple of missions tomorrow and see how it goes. If he kills it, I’ll go raise hell with Command. If he doesn’t... well, he’ll know what he needs to work on.” He’s quiet for a while. “You think I’m pushing him to do this.”

 

Curtis squeezes his hand. “I didn’t say that.”

 

“You’re thinking it.”

 

“...maybe a little.” Curtis flops back against the couch, and Shiro wraps an arm around him. “This whole thing just... it kind of reminds me of when you were sick and pushing yourself too hard.”

 

 _Oof._ Yeah, Curtis has a point, and now that he mentions it Shiro can see the parallels. “I’ve been where he is, yeah. Except he’s not dying. He’s just... got some new limits he’s going to have to learn to work with.”

 

“Eeh... yeah, that’s true.” Curtis sighs. “I still think it wouldn’t hurt to wait. At least I’d like to think that.”

 

“But,” Shiro prompts, and Curtis throws up his hands.

 

“But I know him. If you don’t give him that option he’ll find another way.”

 

Shiro knows he will, and he shudders a little at the thought of Adam running right out and sweet-talking one of the MFE pilots into letting him fly backseat and giving him the stick without one second of sim time beforehand. No, Shiro isn’t a hundred percent certain his idea is the best one, but he figures it’s probably the safest way for Adam to scratch that itch in his soul.

 

He hopes it is.

 

* * *

 

Adam wakes up feeling surprisingly good, considering everything that happened yesterday. Well, if this sim thing pans out, he’ll have a fat stack of scores to go wave at Command and hopefully convince them to give him the rest of his damn job back. So that’s pretty great.

 

He meets Takashi in the sim bay a little early. The cadets are still practicing for their finals. They seem to be doing great, and of course they are--with Takashi teaching them, why wouldn’t they be? He even laughs a little as he watches one of the senior cadets whip through one of the hardest MFE missions he wrote like it’s nothing. Takashi said one of the junior cadets kind of reminded him of Keith, and Adam thinks he can guess which one. The one breezing through missions some of the senior cadets are kind of shaky on. The one that looks kind of uncomfortable with his classmates’ attempts to socialize with him.

 

When the cadets finally clear out, Adam climbs into a pod and straps himself into the pilot seat and asks the operator to load up Baby’s First MFE mission. It’s been a few years since he’s been behind the stick, after all. Better start with the basics. Probably wouldn’t hurt to start with basics he designed himself, either.

 

He hears Takashi chuckle over the comm. “Yeah, good idea.” Like he’s reading Adam’s mind. Adam can’t help but grin a little at that.

 

Baby’s First MFE Mission is simple enough. Difficulty rating: 1.0. Here’s your throttle, here’s your stick, here are the instruments you really need to be watching, here’s the trigger that makes the guns go _pew pew,_ here are a couple of nice stationary practice targets to make them go _pew pew_ at. No crazy maneuvering, no hostiles, no obstacles, just an easy clear flight path and some punching bags at the end. It’s easy.

 

“Give me something a little spicier,” Adam says to the operator when he’s done with that.

 

“Yes sir. A little spicier, coming right up.”

 

Difficulty rating: 2.0. Daylight and clear sky. Small formation of hostile drones. They shoot back, but their AI is pants-on-head stupid and it doesn’t take much to outwit them. 

 

 _All right,_ Adam thinks. _Just watch that left side and watch that radar._

 

He knows he’s made shorter work of this mission in the past, but he clears it without taking damage. 

 

“Doing okay in there?” Takashi asks. 

 

“Not happy with my score on that one.” 

 

“It’s not bad.”

 

“Not bad isn’t good enough. Run it again.”

 

He hears Takashi sigh. “All right, here you go.”

 

On the next run, Adam manages to shave a few seconds off his time. He’s still not happy. This is a mission for junior cadets, for fuck’s sake. “One more.”

 

“One more” turns into “four more,” each one just a few seconds faster and a few points better than the last, before Takashi steps in and asks him to try something else. Fine. He’ll try something else.

 

He’s not happy with his scores on any of the missions he runs. He’s too slow. Too sloppy. He keeps forgetting about that left side.

 

“I can do better than this,” he grumbles as the operator loads up another mission. “I’ve _done_ better than this! What the hell is wrong with me?”

 

“Friendly reminder,” Takashi says, “that you haven’t flown in ...how many years now? And you’re learning to work around some new limitations? Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re doing fine.”

 

The trouble starts when he gets a combat mission against a Galra fighter. 

 

There’s only one of them, not the swarms of them Adam remembers pouring out of the warships. And it’s been retextured, since the only Galra fighters anyone here might ever have to engage these days are the ones the space pirates scavenged. But it’s close enough to the last thing he saw before the world burst into flames and blinding light and the smell of burning plastic and metal and flesh to make Adam’s heart skip a few beats and by the time he pulls himself together, it’s too late. He fails the mission.

 

“It’s okay,” Takashi says. “I know.” 

 

Is that pity in his voice? That’s the last thing Adam wants. “Run it again,” he says through his teeth.

 

It’s easier this time. He knows what’s coming. But even though he’s ready for it, even with its new Jolly Roger-themed paint job, the sight of a Galra fighter in the air is still dragging up images he doesn’t want to deal with, not right now, not ever. He almost forgets to check that left side at a crucial moment, and he doesn’t quite avoid the shot but at least the damage is superficial enough to let him complete the mission. His score isn’t fantastic but he clears it.

 

He can still do this. He can still fly. His ears are ringing and throat is dry and his left hand is starting to feel a little stiff but that’s fine. He’ll live.

 

“I think it’s about time for a break.” Takashi sounds a little worried.

 

“Not yet.” How long has he been at this? Doesn’t matter. He has nothing else to do and _needs_ to get back on this horse and he’s not going to break through whatever mental scar tissue is messing with his focus unless he actually puts his ass in this seat and puts in the fucking work. “Keep ‘em coming.”

 

“Five minutes. Go get a cup of coffee.”

 

“I said no.”

 

Takashi sighs. He knows better than to argue. “All right, you heard him.”

 

He’s fine. His hand is tired and the margins of error are getting slimmer with every new mission and every time he sees a Galra ship he feels ice water flush through his veins, but he’s fine. He keeps reminding himself to check that left side, keeps shaking his hand out when he can, and he’s fine. The missions are getting harder and his scores are creeping downward but he’s still passing and he’s _fine,_ goddammit.

 

_He can still do this._

 

“One more and you’re coming out of there,” Takashi says over the comm.

 

“I said I’m fine, Takashi! Stop nagging me!”

 

And then the operator loads up a mission, and Adam hears Takashi’s voice off the mic-- _wait, hold on, not that one--_

 

“No,” Adam growls back. “Whatever it is, go ahead and run it.”

 

“Adam, no, trust me, it’s--”

 

“I said _run it.”_

 

The operator does and Adam immediately wishes he’d listened to Takashi. It’s an asteroid field. 

 

He should abort this one, he thinks. There’s no shame in pulling the plug on a mission he’s not ready for, he’s told enough cadets that over the years, he should believe it himself. 

 

He doesn’t abort it. He has to try it. He just has to try it and see. Maybe he’ll surprise himself. He won’t know if he doesn’t try, right?

 

 _They’re just rocks,_ Adam tells himself. They don’t shoot back. The MFE-Ares is a hell of a lot more maneuverable than a freighter and he can read all the instruments and alerts and shit. They’re just rocks. All he has to do is not run into them. But in the back of his mind he can still feel them bouncing off the hull, still hear the Godawful wrenching noise they made when they ripped it open and tore the engine off, still hear the chaos and panic on the other side of the cockpit door. There’s cold sweat running down the back of his neck and as much as he hates to admit it he’s probably going to need that break after this mission so he can go splash some cold water on his face and maybe throw up but he’s _doing this._

 

Then he realizes it’s been way too long since he’s checked his left.

 

He takes a hit, solid enough to tear his left wing off and send him into an uncontrollable spin, solid enough to set the alarms blaring, and that’s all he can take. His vision goes dark around the edges and that cold slimy thing squirms up into his chest and clenches around his heart and his lungs and leaves him clutching at his head and fighting for air and the worst thing about this, the _very worst thing about this,_ is the shame churning up underneath the panic as _simulation failed_ appears on his display.

 

He _wrote_ this mission. 

 

He should be able to run it with his eye closed and one hand tied behind his back. And he choked. He failed a mission that he _wrote_.

 

What kind of pilot can’t pass his own fucking sim mission?

 

What kind of pilot can’t pass his own fucking sim mission because he’s too busy having an honest to God panic attack over some polygons on a screen?

 

“Okay. That’s it. We’re done. Come on out.”

 

Adam opens his mouth to answer that and he can’t. _No,_ he tries to say. _I can do this. Let me try it again._ Nothing comes out. 

 

“Adam?”

 

He hears some muffled but urgent conversation out in the sim bay, and then the hatch opens and Takashi’s shadow falls over him.

 

“Ah, shit,” Takashi sighs. “Okay. It’s okay.” He’s quiet for a while, one hand on Adam’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Adam. I’m so sorry. That’s why I didn’t want you to--come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

 

“I can do it,” Adam chokes out, trying like hell to sound like he means it. “I can do it, just let me--”

 

“Adam...” Takashi crouches down next to him. Later on, Adam is going to wish he hadn’t done this. But he focuses on the scent of Takashi’s aftershave, that cheap drugstore shit that has no right to smell that good on anyone. It’s the only lifeline he can reach to pull himself up out of that abyss the panic is threatening to drag him down into, and he holds onto it for dear life. “Do you know how long you’ve been in here? It’s time to call it a day.”

 

He wants to argue. He really does. He can’t get enough air to form the words.

 

“It’s okay. Take your time.” Takashi rubs his back, slow and gentle. “Need to go sit outside for a little while?” Adam thinks about that and then nods. “Okay. And when you’re ready, we can go talk in my office, okay?”

 

* * *

 

 _This is the weirdest damn feeling,_ Adam thinks as he follows Takashi to his office. He’s about to get lectured about his shitty sim scores by his ex. Well, no, logically he knows perfectly well that Takashi isn’t going to _lecture_ him. He’ll point out the stuff Adam did well and the stuff he needs to work on and be his usual encouraging self, but in Adam’s mind it’s all the same. He did a shitty job in there and he’s going to hear about it, and it doesn’t matter how gently Takashi critiques him. 

 

“All right,” Takashi says the second Adam closes the door, “The most important thing first--are you okay? Do you need some water, or--”

 

“No. I’m okay now,” Adam sighs as he plops into the chair in front of Takashi’s desk. “It was just--” He throws up his hands. “Everything was fine. The baby mission. The shitty drone mission. All that other stuff. No problem. Everything was great. And then that one with the Galra fighter kind of--brought some stuff back.”

 

Takashi nods. “I feel that. But then you ran it again, and you did a lot better the second time. So that’s good.”

 

Adam nods. “I was ready for it that time. So I just need to keep at it.”

 

“Yeah...” Takashi winces a little, and Adam does _not_ like that. “I’m getting a little ahead of myself here but the ‘keeping at it’ part has me worried. I know I don’t have any room to lecture you about pushing yourself too hard, but...” Takashi gives him a little sheepish shrug. “You didn’t even realize how long you’d been in there, and that kinda scares me.”

 

He’s done this before, hasn’t he? Been so damn determined to solve a problem that he lost track of time and spent half the night in a pod? At least before the invasion he had a good reason, but... no, no, he _still_ has a good reason. “I was in the zone, I guess.”

 

Takashi winces again, and Adam doesn’t like where this is heading. “No, I don’t think you were. C’mon, how long did we fly together? You weren’t in the zone today. You were beating yourself up because you weren’t performing the way you thought you should be.” 

 

Adam rolls his eye but doesn’t argue.

 

“Look. It’s okay. Considering you haven’t touched a stick in years and you’re having to learn to compensate for your blind side and all that nerve damage in your arm, you actually did great.” He takes a deep breath. “Up until the asteroid field run. That’s the one that _really_ freaked you out.” It’s not a question. “I’m really sorry about that one. We shouldn’t have given you that mission, I should have seen it in the queue and said something then--”

 

“Takashi, _stop.”_ Adam rubs his forehead. “I wanted to try it. I thought I was ready. I wasn’t. That was on me. And again, I know I can do it. I just need to keep at it.”

 

“I’m just worried about how hard it hit you.” He stops there, and Adam knows the look on his face. It’s the one he gets when he’s trying to break something to someone in the gentlest possible way. “Those asteroids weren’t real. I’m not saying you were wrong to react the way you did. It’s totally understandable. Hell, it happened to _me_ the first time I watched some cadets do the Kerberos landing mission. But I’m afraid if a sim is setting you off, the real thing will too, so--”

 

 _Dammit._ “I can do it,” Adam pleads. “You said it yourself, I cleared the Galra fighter mission the second time so _let me go back in there and try it again--”_

 

“I know. I _do_ believe you can get past this, and we’ll keep working on it but... not right now. You’ve done enough for today.” Takashi takes another deep breath and Adam already knows he’s not going to like whatever’s coming next. “I’m... not really comfortable with showing this to Command.”

 

“Oh, goddammit!” Adam snaps. “You said you’d back me up on this!”

 

“I said _if_ you could prove them wrong.” Takashi sighs and rubs his eyes. “If you’d aced all of those missions, I’d be marching down there right now to tell them they’re full of shit but _I can’t._ And I know you’ll get there, but right now you’re just not ready.”

 

 _“I can do this,”_ Adam grates out again. “I’ll--I’ll go see your therapist. Whatever I have to do.”

 

“I really do want you to try that.” Takashi reaches across the desk to pat Adam on the arm. “But it’s not an instant fix, okay? Trust me. I still have nightmares and panic attacks sometimes. Curtis has been going longer than I have and _he_ still has nightmares. You don’t just go in there and come out all better. It’s hard work, and you’re going to dig up shit you’d rather leave buried, and there’s going to be days when you come out of that office wishing you’d never set foot in it. It’ll help, I’m not saying it won’t. But it won’t fix everything overnight.” He’s quiet for a while. “I think you’re right, for what it’s worth. I think you just need more practice and more time. But until I can be sure you’re not going to freeze up behind the stick, I can’t ask them to let you fly the real thing.”

 

Adam can’t believe he’s about to suggest the thing he’s about to suggest, but again, if it’s that or nothing... “Fine. Tell them to put me on cargo. I can do that.”

 

“Adam...” Takashi sits back and scrubs a hand over his eyes. He looks tired and Adam tries not to think too much about the likelihood that he, himself, is the cause of that. “Right now I’d be afraid to recommend you for a cargo run to _Mars._ I’m sorry. God, I know how terrible that sounds, especially coming from me of all people and _I’m sorry._ We’ll keep working. You’ll get there. But you’re not ready yet and I don’t want to--” He shuts up quickly, like he’s biting down on the words, like he’s afraid of what’s about to come out of his mouth. 

 

 _I don’t want to argue about it anymore,_ is what Adam thinks he was going to say. Well, fine. Might as well. “Go on,” Adam says. He doesn’t want to hear it, but Takashi wants to say it, so whatever. “Finish your sentence.”

 

Takashi doesn’t. Not for a long time. “I don’t want to lose--I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

 

Adam considers calling him on that last-second rewrite, and decides he’s just too damn tired to poke that beehive. 

 

“When you’re ready, that’s probably where you’ll end up. Like I said, we’ve got more need for cargo pilots than fighter pilots these days,” Takashi says, soft and gentle. “But we need good teachers more than we need either one.”

 

“And now you’re telling me the most useful thing I can do is fly a desk on banker’s hours.”

 

Takashi recoils as if Adam had slapped him. “Hey. _Hey!_ Where’d that come from? You’re one of the best teachers the academy has ever had. Ever. And you loved it! You never would have said that before--”

 

“--Before I got myself shot out of the sky and ended up sitting out the whole goddamn war playing pioneer days on Gilligan’s Planet while you and Curtis and Keith were putting your lives on the line out there?” Adam snaps. “While the rest of my squadron was--” He catches Takashi’s eye, sees the way Takashi is looking at him, and ends up pulling a last-minute rewrite of his own. “I should have told Iverson to go fuck himself when he gave us the order.”

 

“Okay.” Takashi nods. “Let’s say you did. Sanda would have thrown you in the lockup for that. Then what? You think that would have grounded your whole squadron? C’mon. She still wanted to send another fucking Fury squadron up even after what happened to yours, she threatened to have Sam and Iverson court-martialed for sending the MFEs up instead, _you know how she was._ What happened to your squadron was not your fault.” Takashi reaches across the desk and lays a hand on his arm again, and Adam really wishes he wouldn’t. “If that’s what all this is about, I promise you _it wasn’t your fault._ Blame Sanda. Or Iverson. Hell, blame _me,_ maybe if we’d gotten back sooner--”

 

“I’m not going to blame you, what the fuck, Takashi--”

 

“And I’m not going to let you blame _yourself.”_

 

There’s steel in Takashi’s eyes and in his voice and Adam knows that look and that tone all too well. This is a page straight out of Curtis’ playbook, one Adam has been on the other end of more than once, one Takashi has probably been on the other end of enough times to know how effective it is.

 

“We’ll keep working. I promise. I’ll work with you as long as it takes. I know you, Adam. I know you can do this. Just... not today.” Takashi pats his arm. 

 

He flinches. 

 

He can’t help it. He knows Takashi doesn’t mean anything sketchy by it, it’s just how he is and he’s just trying to make Adam feel better but he can’t help it. 

 

Takashi notices it, and Adam hopes like hell he doesn’t ask.

 

He doesn’t. He just pulls his hand back. “Hey. Why don’t you come over for dinner?” Takashi asks him instead. “After what happened in there I wouldn’t feel right sending you home alone.”

 

In spite of how spectacularly shitty this day has been and in spite of the alarm bells his reaction to that casual touch is setting off in his head, Adam can’t help but smile a little. “Curtis is cooking, right?”

 

Takashi huffs out a comically exaggerated petulant sigh. “Yes, Curtis is cooking.”

 

* * *

 

Curtis knows from the second Takashi texts him to ask if there’ll be enough dinner for a guest that it didn’t go well, but even knowing that doesn’t prepare him for the way Adam looks when he comes in the door.

 

He looks devastated. And Curtis absolutely understands why. Takashi said he thinks time and patience will get him back to where he was or at least close enough to satisfy Command, but for now... God, poor Adam, they won’t even have him teaching full time until the next term starts in the fall. Curtis understands that it doesn’t really make sense to put him in a classroom full time until then, not as close to the end of the term as it is, but it’s still got to sting. Especially considering how badly he’s been itching to get back to work ever since he came home.

 

But there’s something else. They keep the conversation at the dinner table light, and Adam seems to keep up with it well enough, but he won’t look Takashi in the eye at all. He’s being very careful to keep his hands above the table, too. 

 

When they’re finished Adam offers to clear the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher, and Curtis feels his heart break a little. Adam has had a terrible day, he’s had a terrible _week_ , he shouldn’t be cleaning up after them, he should be getting some rest. So Curtis starts to gently refuse and steer him towards the recliner again, but Adam shakes his head.

 

“Let me do this, okay?” He sounds exhausted. “Please just... let me do something.”

 

* * *

 

Late that night, long after they’ve taken Adam back to the dorm (he was actually about to call a taxi, they had to beg him to let them give him a ride), long after they’ve gone to bed, Shiro lies there snuggled back against Curtis’ chest staring at the wall again.

 

He shouldn’t have done that. Shouldn’t have floated the sim idea this soon, shouldn’t have let him stay in there that long, definitely shouldn’t have let the operator run the asteroid field mission. 

 

Curtis didn’t say _I told you so_ because he doesn’t do that. Shiro thinks this would all be easier to stomach if he did. But he didn’t. He even agreed that if Adam had to find out he wasn’t ready to fly, that _was_ the safest way for him to do it. 

 

But Shiro couldn’t help noticing that Adam wouldn’t look him in the eye the whole time he was over. He couldn’t help noticing the way Adam flinched away from his touch. 

 

 _Does he think I’m disappointed in him?_ Shiro wonders, and the thought of that makes his chest ache a little in a way he can’t quite put words to. 

 

Later, he’ll realize that what he felt was that knot in his stomach starting to unravel, just a little.

 

* * *

 

The Garrison puts you where they need you the most, Adam reminds himself again and again, and where they need him the most right now is in the classroom. 

 

It’s not that he doesn’t like teaching again, and it’s not that the academy isn’t glad to have him back. Admin is unabashedly excited about seeing the new survival curriculum now that he’s actually had several years of experience living in the wild on an alien planet. There’s even that annual deep space field trip on the _Atlas_ to look forward to now (which carries an ever-so-slightly greater than zero chance of his students getting to see him punch Iverson again but never mind that).

 

Except right now, he’s a sub. 

 

He does love teaching. But he hates subbing. He’s never in a class long enough to get to know the cadets in it, or to get a good feel for where they are in the current unit--sure, the regular instructors leave him plenty of notes, but that’s only one side of the story, isn’t it? All he can do is take attendance and pass on whatever assignments are on the schedule. Especially this close to finals. No new material, no discussion, none of the things Adam likes best about teaching. Just reviewing the old shit and occasionally walking a class to the sim bay or something.

 

It’s a temporary arrangement, of course. It’s too close to the end of the current term to put him in front of a class full-time, he’ll be back on the roster in the fall teaching the same stuff he used to teach. He gets that. He absolutely gets that. But right now, he might work one or two days out of the week and that’s leaving him way too much free time and not enough stuff to fill it with. 

 

The first chunk of his back pay is sitting mostly untouched in his account. He still hasn’t gotten around to printing out any of those pictures or getting those plants or that fish or anything. He certainly hasn’t gotten around to getting a car. It’s not that he hasn’t thought about it, and he knows all of that would give him something to do on the days when they don’t need him to sub, but he just can’t seem to figure out where or how to start. It’s stupid. He should be able to just jump right into single adulting on Earth again. As long as he kept up his daily routine on the colony, this should be easy. He’s gotten as far as doing a couple halfhearted Net searches for _car for sale near me_ and _aquarium setup for_ _betta fish_ and that’s about it.

 

On Wednesdays he goes to chorus rehearsal. He doesn’t have to show up for the cadets since he’s singing instead of playing now, and that’s just as well because he’d probably have to bodily remove the accompanist from the bench and take over himself, whether his hand is up to it or not. 

 

Curtis wasn’t kidding--Wade _is_ a really good pianist, but he’s a shitty accompanist. He has a bad habit of not watching Imogen. Sometimes he just keeps right on playing after she cuts them off to fine-tune something and then looks annoyed when he finally gets the message. He keeps missing tempo changes, or throwing his own in just for the hell of it, or ignoring fermatas. And Adam can’t help but notice the little pleading glances Imogen keeps tossing him when Wade does this shit. 

 

Other than that, it’s fine. Except he sits right next to Curtis, close enough to feel warmth against his shoulder and hear that gorgeous voice in his right ear and smell the late-afternoon ghost of his new aftershave, that stuff that smells like Christmas candles. Most of the time it doesn’t bother him. Sometimes it does, and he reminds himself that they were friends before and they’re still friends now and it’s good that they still have that. 

 

He gets in some sim time when he can, but with the cadets practicing for their final evals, that’s not often at this point in the year. He can go in on Takashi’s free period or he can go in after classes, but he doesn’t feel right about keeping Takashi there after work. He’s doing better. Not great. Not anywhere near what he used to do. Not anywhere near what he knows he’s capable of. He knows Takashi is right, it’s going to take time and practice to get back to where he was. But it’s so fucking _frustrating,_ seeing those shitty sim scores and knowing how much better he could do, how much better he’s already done, and only being able to spend an hour here and an hour there in a pod with nothing but a few seconds or a handful of points of improvement to show for it. But he hasn’t had another panic attack in there yet, that’s something. He also hasn’t done the asteroid field run again. 

 

He hasn’t tried the cargo sims yet even though he keeps saying he’s going to. He figures he should do what he knows, that has the best chance of getting him back in the air quicker. Right? Right.

 

So he subs when they need him to and practices on his little keyboard and sings and goes through the motions of writing lesson plans and stuff when they don’t and flies some sim missions when he can. It’s not what he wants to do, but it’s not terrible. And when he’s teaching, Takashi meets him in the lounge if their off periods line up or in the chow hall for lunch if they don’t and they spend an hour venting at each other about whatever’s vexing them that day, or gushing about the latest little victories, or both. Just like they used to. As long as Adam doesn’t stare at his hair or his eyes or zone out on the scent of his aftershave or think too much about how much he’s changed for the better, anyway. Most of the time that doesn’t bother him either. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it _really_ bothers him.

 

But he’s okay with everything. He can work with Takashi and Curtis and hang out with them and be their friend and all that without making it weird. He can do that. 

 

And then Imogen blows into the instructors’ lounge all flustered one Wednesday afternoon because Wade had something come up at the last minute and can’t make it today, and she all-out begs Adam to fill in for him and won’t leave him alone until he gives in.

 

He’s not sure he’s up to this, but he looks over the pieces the cadets are doing and knows he can’t use _that_ as an excuse--most of it is stuff they’ve done before, and the few new pieces look easy enough. And he knows everything the adults are doing like the back of his hand.

 

All right. Fine. He’ll try it.

 

Everything goes fine with the junior cadets. 

 

By the time they’re done with the senior cadets, Adam’s hand aches a little but he stretches it out and gently works out the kinks and it’s good to go.

 

And then the adults start filing in, and Curtis does a double-take when he sees Adam at the piano again.

 

“Not that it hasn’t been fun having you up there,” he starts as Adam is getting his music situated, “but I am _so_ glad to see you playing again. So is... basically everyone.”

 

“Yeah, well.” Adam laughs. “I’m not sure how this is going to go, but I said I’d try. This is... kinda like old times, isn’t it?”

 

“Yep.” Curtis grins and pats him on the shoulder and goes up to take his place in the tenor row.

 

It _is_ kind of like old times.

 

At least, it is at first.

 

Adam steals the occasional glance at Curtis over the top of his music, and he thinks Curtis might be doing the same with him when he’s not looking. 

 

Then they catch each other, and Curtis doesn’t smile like he used to. He looks away quickly, so quickly that Adam isn’t even sure he was really looking. But there’s unease on his face, like he thinks he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

 

And then while they’re working on the second piece, Adam feels his hand starting to cramp up a little. It’s not bad, and when the director stops them for whatever reason that gives him plenty of time to massage it out but it keeps happening, all the way through the second piece. 

 

He has to ask for a five-minute break before they start on the third. He hates to do that. Rehearsal takes up enough of everyone’s evening as it is. Nobody seems to mind, nobody gives him any crap about it, a couple of people even come over to ask if he’s okay. Curtis is one of them.

 

“I’m fine,” Adam says, even as he’s trying to shake the knots out of his hand, and Curtis just--

 

Damn it, Adam knows that’s just how he is, he doesn’t mean anything sketchy by it, he sees someone having a problem and he just has to _help_ but--he gently takes Adam’s hand in both of his, helps him stretch it out, carefully massages the knots out of his palm with the pads of his thumbs. Curtis doesn’t mean anything by it, just like Takashi didn’t mean anything by that hand on his arm. Adam knows that. Curtis hates to see the people he cares about hurting, and he’s doing what he can do about it. Simple and innocent as that.

 

But that doesn’t keep a number of thoughts Adam knows he shouldn’t be having about a married man’s hands from flitting around the periphery of his conscious mind, thoughts that are anything but innocent, and by the time he realizes he’s staring at their hands--staring and blushing--it’s too late.

 

“Uh--” Curtis lets go quickly and steps back. Is he blushing too? It’s hard to tell with him, but... “I, um--I’m sorry. I should have asked first--”

 

“No, it’s--” Adam shakes his head. What the hell was he thinking!? “It’s okay, it’s--it feels better, thanks.”

 

Curtis clears his throat and nods and scoots back up into his spot and Adam sort of wants to just curl up in a ball and roll under the piano bench and stay there for the rest of his life.

 

What the fuck just happened here!?

 

Best to just put it out of his head and concentrate on the piano.

 

But his hand starts cramping up again and it’s _tired_ and he’s missing notes and every time he misses he gets more annoyed and more frustrated, which makes him tense up, which makes his hand cramp up a little more, which makes him miss notes again, which... thank fucking God rehearsal is almost over, because he can’t keep this up much longer. 

 

He looks up at Curtis a couple more times, but never catches him looking back again.

 

When rehearsal is finally over, Adam doesn’t wait around to talk to anyone. Not the director, not any of the other singers, and absolutely not Curtis. He packs up his stuff, throws the cover over the piano, and bails out as fast as he can. He thinks he hears Curtis call after him, but he doesn’t stop. 

 

 _Here I am,_ he thinks, _pissed off at the world because the Garrison won’t let me fly anymore, and I can’t even get through chorus rehearsal without my hand tying itself in fucking knots._

 

His phone buzzes in his pocket a few times while he’s walking back to the dorm. He can’t bring himself to look at it. Not now. Not out here. 

 

He can’t quite bring himself to look when he gets back to his room and shuts the door, either. Why is he so damn scared to look at his phone? He hasn’t done anything wrong. 

 

 _Not yet,_ some sour little voice in his head sneers, and he shoos the thought away like an annoying bug. _You were sure_ thinking _about it though, weren’t you?_

 

He flops down on his bed, gathers his nerve, and looks at his phone. Two texts from Curtis:

 

_You left in a hurry, you ok?_

 

_???_

 

And then one from Takashi:

 

_Hey, can you hit Curtis up when you get this? He’s worried about you._

 

He sends them both a single thumbs-up emoji. Then he huffs out a sigh and gives them a proper response: _I’m tired and grumpy and my hand hurts and I just want to go to bed. I’m sorry I made you worry._

 

He hits “send” and then mutes his phone because he doesn’t want to discuss any of this any further with either one of them. He doesn’t want to discuss _anything_ with either one of them. He doesn’t want to see either one of them--

 

Wait, where did _that_ come from!?

 

Why the hell wouldn’t he want to see them? Whatever might have happened between them all in the past, they’re still friends. And this was what he wanted. Wasn’t it? For Takashi and Curtis to take care of each other, to make each other happy, and that’s what they’re doing. 

 

That’s... that’s still what he wants, isn’t it?

 

Adam is instantly ashamed of himself for even questioning that. Of course it’s still what he wants. He’s still glad they had each other while he was gone. He’s still glad they have each other now. He still wants them to be happy. He doesn’t regret making the video even if he said some things on it that are kind of embarrassing now. He doesn’t regret giving it to Curtis. He was _thrilled_ to see their wedding pictures, to see their house and a little bit of the life they’ve built together, to see _them_ together.

 

He picks up his phone. He’s missed a text from both of them. He doesn’t read them. He just opens up the photo gallery. After he took that picture of that one picture on the mantel, he went back and took a few more of his favorites on either side of the fireplace. The first one he scrolls to is one of Curtis and Takashi, most likely at the rodeo in Houston going by their clothes and matching cowboy hats and the deep-fried chocolate-drizzled powdered-sugar-dusted thing on a stick in Curtis’ free hand.

 

That one makes Adam smile a little, even now. Because they look like they were having so much fun, and because he finds it kind of hilarious and a little unfair that a Japanese man can look _that_ good in western wear.

 

He swipes through pictures for a while. Some pictures of the ones on their wall, some taken since he’s been back, even a couple of wedding pictures he got Keith to send him. And for a little while, it makes him feel better to see how happy they make each other.

 

But as he keeps swiping through the gallery he realizes that as good as it feels to see them together, there’s something else stirring just below the surface. He knows it’s there, he’s felt it ever since Keith first showed him the wedding pictures, and every time he tries to put a name on it he feels it slip away. It’s like trying to catch a minnow in a fast-moving stream with his bare hands. 

 

He knows one thing for sure: he doesn’t want them to split up. Not now, not ever. Just the thought of it, the thought of either of them getting hurt again, the thought of the life Curtis and Takashi built together crumbling around them makes Adam feel a little sick. He may not know what it is he wants, but he knows for sure that’s the furthest possible thing from whatever it is.

 

 _The furthest possible thing from what you want,_ that sour little voice pipes up, mockingly. _Oh, you are_ this _close._

 

Finally, he comes to that picture of _that_ picture, the one they put right in the middle of the mantel, the one from the Grand Canyon, and it hits him like a punch in the gut.

 

The night he came home, that first night in Curtis and Takashi’s house, that picture caught him. The day the fridge gal came, that picture caught him. The positioning, he thought. He’s in the middle. A little behind Curtis and Takashi, but between them. He’s pulling them together, sure. But he’s still between them. One arm around each of them. He and Takashi must have been dating at that point so why was he back there, between them, pulling them all together like that?

 

Maybe parts of Adam’s memory are still full of holes, but he remembers this. Yes, he and Takashi were dating then, for sure. Had been since that last winter break before they graduated. They might have been talking about moving in together at that point. But right after they all graduated--him and Takashi and Curtis and Veronica--Veronica borrowed her dad’s car and they all piled in and took that day trip to the Grand Canyon to celebrate. It was hotter than hell and Adam’s Canadian ass was _not_ meant to deal with that kind of heat. Curtis was perfectly happy because it was hot but it was _dry_ hot, not like Houston where you needed gills to breathe outside in the summer. And Takashi, _the most melanin-deficient person in this whole fucking group,_ insisted on walking around in a tank top so Adam kept basting him with a fresh coat of sunscreen every hour or so and he _still_ turned red as a boiled lobster and he bitched about the seat belt rubbing him raw all the way back, at least until Adam pulled his own T-shirt off and tucked it between the seat belt and his burned shoulder...

 

And Veronica... she wanted a picture of the three of them. She really wanted a picture of _all_ of them, but she forgot the selfie stick and they were kind of off the beaten path and there was nobody else there to ask to take the thing, so she settled for one good shot of her boys...

 

And Adam didn’t think about what this might mean all these years later, all he knew was that even though he was miserable and possibly a little delirious from the heat, he was excited about graduating and he was out here with his boyfriend and his best friend and he just wanted to hug both of them and the picture was a convenient excuse to do that. 

 

At the time, that’s all it was. He’s sure of that. It was perfectly innocent. Just a double side-hug for a photo.

 

But now... now he thinks about how that felt, and it aches deeper than he ever could have expected it to.

 

He’d expected to maybe have a little bit of a lingering thing for Curtis. That would have been natural and understandable considering they were still together when everything went to hell. But _Takashi..._

 

He didn’t count on Takashi getting his shit together, did he?

 

And even then, if it was just one of them, maybe that’d be okay, maybe that wouldn’t keep him from having thoughts he knows he shouldn’t have but at least it’d be easier to keep things above board for the sake of the other’s feelings. But this--he didn’t even realize he had the capacity to feel like this, what the fuck is he supposed to _do_ about it!?

 

Nothing. That’s what he’ll do. Absolutely nothing. Because there’s nothing he _can_ do, is there?

 

Okay. Maybe he should tell them. In the interest of honesty and full disclosure and all that bullshit. Just take them out for lunch (not dinner, nothing that could even put forth the slightest appearance of anything other than a friendly chat), sit them both down, and tell them he’s got this _thing,_ he sure didn’t mean for it to happen but it happened so he might as well be honest about it. But it’s okay, he’ll tell them. It’s all okay, he’s not going to act on it and he’s not going to make things weird and he’s not going to cause any trouble, he just thought they should know.

 

...except that _would_ make things weird, wouldn’t it? What if it freaks them both out? 

 

Even worse: what if it freaks _one_ of them out but not the other? What happens then? Is he supposed to ask them to just... live with that hanging between them? Step out and leave them to work it out themselves?

 

No. Absolutely not. There is no possible scenario where that works out well for any of them.

 

He knows it’s never going to happen. He knows that. But he still looks at that picture and imagines warmth on either side of him, Curtis’ soft hair against his cheek and Takashi’s chin gently digging into his shoulder and both of their arms around his waist and the scent of evergreens and bayberries and cheap drugstore aftershave mingling in the air between them, and then he thinks about that damn video taped to the back of that frame, and--

 

Oh, _fuck._

 

He’s already said it.

 

He’s said it _to them._

 

Maybe he didn’t mean it like that at the time. Maybe he did. He was in a pretty bad place when he made that video, a lot of it is still kind of fuzzy. Either way, he figured that video would be his last message to both of them, and he could tell them what was in his heart and he wouldn’t have to worry about it causing any trouble.

 

But now he’s been dropped back into their lives and this thing that’s gnawing on his heart--he said it. He came right out and _said it to them in so many words._ Do they remember that? How long has it been since they actually watched the video? Do they remember what he said? 

 

Whether they remember or not, Adam does. He remembers. He doesn’t remember everything he said, not word for word, but he remembers that. Maybe he meant it in a different way back then, but now... he remembers what he said, and all he can think about is the potential fallout if they do too. If they figure out that he still means it. If they figure out _how_ he means it now.

 

He can’t let them find out about this. He can’t tell them. _Ever._

 

Adam still doesn’t read those texts. He just puts his phone back to sleep, drops it face down onto the mattress, and curls up on his side, staring at the wall as his heart crumbles into a thousand little pieces.

 

* * *

 

Adam gets up the next morning, takes his shower, eats his breakfast and drinks his coffee, and tries to go on with life just like normal. Like he didn’t spend the whole fucking night curled up in a ball with the lights and most of his clothes still on. Like he didn’t spend the whole fucking night thinking about how much easier this would all be if they’d both just turn their backs on him and forget he existed. Like he didn’t spend the whole fucking night wishing he could just snap his fingers and _stop wanting them._

 

The physics teacher he’s been filling in for this week is still contagious, so he’s working today and that’s probably for the best. It’s something to do. He’s fine through his morning classes. Maybe in need of an extra cup of coffee, but fine. At least he has something to keep his mind busy, something to do besides lie in bed and stare at the wall.

 

But then his off period comes around and he knows damn well it’s Takashi’s off period too so... what the hell does he do? He can’t go to the instructors’ lounge, Takashi’s going to be there. He can’t just sit in his classroom, especially not after those texts last night, Takashi will come check on him and that’s even worse because they’ll be alone in there and Adam isn’t sure he can trust himself to be alone with either of them anymore. 

 

And the _Atlas_ isn’t going anywhere for a while, which means even if he manages to dodge Takashi, Curtis will catch up to him sooner or later. After what happened last night, it’s almost certain that Curtis will try and corner him. And Curtis has the un-fucking-canny ability to convince him to open up when he wants to the least and needs to the most and if he says one word about this to Curtis, to _either_ of them--he doesn’t even care if they both decide to cut him out of their lives for it. No, more than anything, he’s terrified that if they find out about this, it’s going to end up turning them against _each other_ and again, absolutely nothing could be farther from what he wants than that.

 

Best to just keep them both at arm’s length from now on. It’s going to sting for a while, probably a long while, but at least this way nobody else has to get hurt.

 

He grabs his tablet and his notes for his lesson plans for the fall and trudges off to the lounge. At least in the lounge there’ll be other people around to keep him honest, and to keep Takashi from asking him anything too personal. 

 

He grabs a seat in the corner, with his back to the door, and spreads some paperwork out on the table and holds a pen so it at least looks like he’s working. But of course Takashi is there, and of course he sees right through it.

 

He slides into the seat across from Adam. “Hey.”

 

“Hey,” Adam says back, without looking up.

 

Neither of them says anything else for entirely too long. Takashi finally breaks the silence.

 

“You look like hell.” Adam doesn’t say anything to that, hopes he’ll just give up and walk away, but of course he doesn’t. Takashi doesn’t give up. He never has. It’s one of the reasons Adam fell in love with him in the first place, after all. “Adam. C’mon. What’s wrong?”

 

“It’s nothing. I just--” Well, what he’s about to say isn’t _completely_ untrue, but... “I’m just dealing with a lot of shit right now, y’know?”

 

He hopes that’ll be the end of it, that “dealing with a lot of shit, thanks” will be enough to get the point across that he doesn’t want to go into detail.

 

He should know better.

 

“I know,” Takashi says. “I had to deal with some of the same shit, remember? If you need to talk about it--”

 

“I don’t.” Fucking hell, that’s the _last_ thing he wants to do. “Takashi, please, just--don’t.”

 

“Okay.” Takashi huffs out a soft breath and gets up. “How’s your hand feeling? You want to run a couple missions later?”

 

“I don’t know.” Adam shrugs and tries to concentrate on his busywork but that cheap drugstore shit that has no right to smell that good on anyone is trying just as hard to distract him from it. 

 

Takashi watches him for a while. “Okay,” he finally says. “Let me know.” He starts to walk off and Adam thinks that’s the end of it, at least for now, but as he’s walking away he lays his hand on Adam’s shoulder for just a second. That’s all. Just a friendly little pat. Maybe half a second of actual contact.

 

Takashi doesn’t mean anything by it, of course he doesn’t. And he can’t possibly know what kept Adam awake all night. 

 

And somehow, that makes it even worse.

 

* * *

 

Takashi doesn’t bug him again, and Curtis doesn’t text him again, and for a few blessed hours Adam thinks he’s off the hook.

 

But then he takes the shuttle back to the dorm and comes out of the elevator and sees them both waiting outside his door and... no. Nope. Not today. Can’t do this today. He should just get back on that elevator, he thinks, and go back downstairs and out the front door and just run like hell. Of course he’s not actually going to do that. It’s stupid. But it sure is tempting. 

 

So he trudges toward his door, trying to pretend he doesn’t see them standing there and doing a piss-poor job of it. 

 

“Okay,” Takashi says, holding both hands up. “If you don’t want to talk about it we’re not going to make you, but we’re just worried about--”

 

“Please go home,” Adam says as mildly as he can. He can’t bring himself to look at either of their faces. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a little rough right now, you don’t need to keep doing this, you don’t need to keep taking time out of your evenings to keep me company, please just go home.”

 

“Adam, please,” Curtis says, and Adam winces a little at the hurt and the worry threaded through those two short words. “If it’s something we said, or did--”

 

“It’s not! You didn’t do anything!” Adam shakes his head and slaps the panel to open his door. “I said I didn’t want to cause any trouble and I--” _I’m afraid I’m going to end up causing the worst possible trouble,_ he tries to say, but he can’t. Because then they’ll ask. And then he’ll tell them. And then... no, God, no, he doesn’t even want to think about it. “I just need some space right now. I am begging you. _Go home.”_ Without waiting for a response he slips into his room and shuts and locks the door.

 

They don’t knock after him. There’s some muffled conversation. They both sound upset. But eventually, Adam hears them walk away.

 

He goes to the bedroom, changes out of his uniform, and curls up in bed.

 

What the fuck is he going to do? He can’t tell them. He can’t _not_ tell them. And he can’t avoid them forever. 

 

Maybe... maybe he doesn’t have to avoid them forever. 

 

Maybe if he just leaves for a while, finds something constructive to do to keep his mind off them, maybe he’ll get over this. Where the hell is he going to go, though? Home? His parents are still tight with them, every time Takashi gets a bug in his 3D printer he’s going to be calling and they’re still going to come up to visit and... no. That’s not going to work. What’s he going to do to earn a living up there, anyway? He guesses he could teach, if all his certifications transfer over, but that still leaves him with nothing to do until the fall. And if they _don’t_ transfer directly, how many hoops is he going to have to jump through to get a decent job and move out on his own?

 

No. That’s not going to work. Maybe if there was something he could do in space, something useful, something that could help people, something that did not in any way involve taking orders from Mitchell Fucking Iverson...

 

* * *

 

Shiro hasn’t slept worth shit for the last couple of days, not since that night they tried to talk to Adam outside his room, so he figured he should have heard his phone go off sometime around four o’clock one morning. But he doesn’t. And when the alarm goes off at seven he takes a look at it, as he does, and finds an ominous text from Keith:

 

_OMW to pick Adam up, catching a wormhole from Altea. He wants to join the Blades. He said not to tell you but I’m telling you. YES, I tried to talk him out of it!!!_

 

“Shit. _Shit!”_ That outburst is enough to wake Curtis up halfway, but Shiro shakes him the rest of the way awake and shows him the text. “What the hell is he doing?”

 

Curtis blinks at the phone while Shiro grabs his jeans and a shirt, like he’s not sure what he’s reading. Then it sinks in. _“What!?”_ He drops the phone on the bed and stumbles up to throw some clothes on. “Can he even do that!? I thought you had to be Galra to--”

 

“Not anymore.” Since the end of the war, a whole lot of former rebels found themselves in need of something meaningful to do. Some of them formed their own relief organizations, but Keith has made some changes since he’s been in charge and now the Blade of Marmora takes anyone willing to do the work.

 

And Adam has been desperately wanting to do some work somewhere since he came home, and the Garrison won’t let him do the kind of work he’s itching to do... Shiro grits his teeth and curses himself softly, he should have seen this coming, he should have known, he shouldn’t have let Adam slip back into his room the other night, they should have followed him in--

 

Factoring in some eating and sleeping time somewhere along the way, it takes Keith’s little ship maybe eighteen to twenty-four hours to make the trip from Daibazaal to Earth without a wormhole. With a wormhole-- _shit._ They don’t have much time. 

 

It’s Saturday and Shiro knows there’s nobody at Academy Admin right now but he fires off an e-mail anyway, to the effect of _if you see a resignation letter from Commander Wolf do NOT process it, I want any and all hard copies placed directly on my desk, let me handle this._

 

Then they jump into Shiro’s car and head for the Garrison. Shiro lets Curtis drive; if ever there was a time they needed his heavy gas pedal foot, this is it.

 

They try knocking on Adam’s door first. Then they try pounding, yelling, whatever they can do to get his attention. There’s no answer. Shiro is just about to give up when he looks at the lock panel and looks at his hand and--ah, shit. This isn’t something he’d normally do. Every instinct he has is screaming at him about how wrong it is for him to even consider this. But Pidge did install a whole bunch of interesting security tools on there and... well, it’s a desperate situation and it’s worth a try, what else can they do right now? He lays his hand on the panel and sets his digital lockpicks running. “Sorry, Adam,” he murmurs while they’re doing their thing. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I hate to do this and I’m sorry but--” 

 

The door opens. Curtis runs in first, and Shiro finds him standing in the bedroom, shaking his head.

 

Adam isn’t here. He’s taken his Earth clothes and his colony clothes and left his uniforms. He’s taken his phone--probably for the music more than anything--and left his keyboard and laptop. He’s left his waffle iron. He still didn’t have anything on the walls. No pictures, no decorations, nothing. Still no plants. No fish. Not so much as a throw pillow. 

 

Now what?

 

Well... if Keith is coming to pick him up, they know where he’ll have to end up sooner or later.

 

Sure enough, they find him sitting on his bag at the landing pad Keith usually uses, just as Keith’s little ship is cruising in and holy _shit_ is Shiro ever going to have some words with him later about going along with this, what the hell is he _thinking--_

 

The ship settles on the ground, and the hatch opens, and Keith comes out to meet them. He looks tired. More than that, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere in the universe but here seeing what’s happening to his Earth family right now, and he looks relieved to see Shiro and Curtis there. 

 

No, Shiro thinks, this is definitely not the time to yell at Keith about this.  _“Adam!”_ he shouts, and Adam jumps up at the sound of Shiro’s voice, wide-eyed, like he’s surprised they came. “Let’s just--let’s go back to your room, okay? Come on. You don’t have to do this. Let’s talk about it.”

 

“There’s nothing to talk about!” Adam snaps. There’s a brittle edge in his voice that Shiro has heard before--the night Adam left him. “You two were out there risking your lives while I was sitting the whole damn war out, the Garrison won’t let me fly, and--I just--me being back here isn’t doing _anyone_ any good!” 

 

“What the--” Shiro throws up his hands. “Of course it is! A lot of people missed you! Your family missed you! _We_ missed you! You just need a little more time, okay?”

 

“I know this has been hard on you, Adam,” Curtis picks up, and there’s that steel in his voice. “Of course it has. After everything that happened to you, of course it’s going to be hard to get used to Earth again, but running away isn’t going to make it any easier.”

 

_“I’m not running away!”_

 

Too fast, too loud, too defensive. Shiro knows right away it’s bullshit, but getting into a _yes you are/no I’m not_ screaming match is not going to help right now. “We’re still your friends,” Shiro says, and he doesn’t know if that’s the right thing to say or if it’s the worst thing he could say, but it’s the truth. “Okay? You know if you need anything from us all you have to do is ask--”

 

“No. _No._ That’s the _last_ thing you want me to do! I can’t--I just--” Adam shakes his head. “I need to leave. Maybe just for a little while. Maybe longer. I don’t know. But if I stay here I’m--I said I didn’t want to cause any trouble and that’s all I’ve done since I came back!”

 

“You’re not causing any trouble!” Shiro can’t believe what he’s hearing. Where the hell is this coming from!? “You keep saying that! Where did you even get that idea!?”

 

“Keith?” There’s still steel in Curtis’ voice, but there’s fear there too. God, poor Curtis, he had to listen to Adam getting shot down and now he has to watch this... “Tell him he doesn’t need to do this. _Please tell him he doesn’t need to do this.”_

 

“I tried.” Keith just shakes his head. “Trust me. _I tried._ But you know how stubborn he is, if he doesn’t come with me he’ll find another way. At least this way I can keep an eye on him for you. And if I even _think_ he’s changed his mind I’ll throw his ass back on the ship and fly him home myself.”

 

“Okay. _Okay._ Look--” Curtis rubs his forehead. “If you want to do something in space we can--we can see about getting you on the _Atlas,_ there’s got to be something you can do--”

 

“Last time I took an order from Iverson, eleven people died. _Fuck_ that.”

 

Shiro can’t argue with that. He doesn’t think it’d happen again. The universe is a much safer place than it was a few years ago and Iverson has learned some very hard lessons since then. But Shiro absolutely understands why that would be a dealbreaker.

 

And Keith has a point. Adam _is_ stubborn. Shiro knows that all too well. If Keith hadn’t agreed to come get him, he would have absolutely found another way. He would have cornered Matt and talked him into getting him in touch with Rolo or Olia or the other former rebels still out there doing relief work or cargo flights or whatever they’re doing now that the universe doesn’t need rebels anymore. If Adam’s going to run off to space, Keith’s the one Shiro wants him doing it with, but goddammit, _he doesn’t want Adam to do this at all!_ “Is there anything we can say that’ll change your mind? _Anything?”_

 

Adam opens his mouth like he’s actually going to answer that, and Shiro can see it in his face--yes. Yes, there _is_ something they can say that will change his mind, Shiro doesn’t know what it could possibly be (or at least that’s what he tells himself at the time), but just for that one silent moment Shiro thinks he sees the faintest little glimmer of hope. If Adam will just give them some idea of what he needs to hear they can say it, and he’ll stay. They can go back to the house, Curtis can finally make him those fajitas, they can bring Keith home too and feed him and let him rest up for a couple of days before he flies back to Daibazaal and they can talk about this like calm, rational adults and _this will all be okay--_

 

But then Adam shakes his head, picks up his bag, and walks away, towards Keith’s ship, and Shiro knows that’s it. Anything else they try to say or do is just going to make it worse.

 

“He’ll come back,” Keith says, and Shiro believes him. He’s not sure Curtis does, but Shiro believes him. “As soon as he’s ready, I’ll bring him back. Uh, you didn’t--” Keith lowers his voice so Adam can’t hear. “He didn’t actually leave a resignation letter or anything, did he?”

 

“Already told Admin to let me handle it if he did,” Shiro whispers back. “I’ll just tell Command he needs some more time off. They won’t argue with me.”

 

“‘Kay.” Keith pats him on the shoulder. “I know him, Shiro. So do both of you. We all know he’ll figure out whatever he needs to figure out and then he’ll want to come home. I’ll keep him safe until he does. I promise.”

 

Shiro believes that, too. It doesn’t make it any easier to watch them walk away, though.

 

“We’re--” Shiro swallows hard, can’t take his eyes off Adam’s back as he and Keith board the ship. “We’re... we’re just letting him do this.”

 

Curtis just hangs on to Shiro’s hand and watches, and there’s something in his eyes Shiro isn’t sure how to parse. “He thinks it’s what he needs to do.” The way Curtis phrases that isn’t an accident. It never is, with him. 

 

 _He thinks_ this is what he needs to do. Meaning, Curtis thinks it’s bullshit too but he knows Adam well enough to know there’s no talking him out of it.

 

It’s not what he needs to do, Shiro wants to yell. Adam doesn’t need to do this, none of what happened was his fault and if anything he’s entitled to spend a few quiet years at home and he doesn’t have to join the spacefaring equivalent of the goddamn Peace Corps to make up for lost time.

 

But what can he do? What can they do? They’ve already tried to talk him out of it and that didn’t work. They can’t very well physically grab him and drag him back to his room. Not that Shiro isn’t kind of tempted to try it, but... no. That would only make it worse. 

 

He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like any of this. But Curtis is right. It’s what Adam thinks he needs to do, so it’s what he’s going to do and there’s not a damn thing anyone can do about it. And like Keith said, at least he won’t be out there on his own. Keith will keep him out of trouble until he gets his head on straight.

 

He’ll come back once he figures out what he needs to figure out, whatever that is.

 

He’ll come back.

 

Shiro keeps telling himself that as the ship takes off and rises out of sight.

 

* * *

 

It’s almost a relief when the hatch seals. Even if Adam gives in to the urge to look back now, they won’t see him.

 

He starts to follow Kosmo back to what he guesses is the cargo-slash-living area, but Keith takes him by the shoulder and steers him forward instead. “Nope. Up front with me.”

 

Huh. Unexpected, but not unwelcome. 

 

They step into the cockpit, and Keith motions to the co-pilot seat. “Sit there and buckle up. Throttle and stick are pretty much where you’d expect, they work about the same way. I’ve got the instruments and nav system and shit all configured for English, and we’ve got the shortest route from Earth to Daibazaal and the other way around on speed dial. You’ll get the hang of it pretty quick. Oh, and you’ll want to go easy on the throttle at first. We don’t have our own teludav but we’re still pretty fast. You’ll get used to that too.”

 

“Okay. Wow.” Adam was not expecting this whole Piloting a Galra Ship 101 course right off the bat, but cool. “When do I get to fly it?”

 

“Soon as we’re out of the atmosphere. You’re taking us back to Daibazaal,” Keith says, and for just one fraction of a second Adam is certain he’s managed to swallow his own tongue. “What?” Keith buckles himself into the pilot seat and shrugs. “You’re pissed off because the Garrison won’t let you fly, right? Fine. If that’s really what this is about, go ahead. Fly all you want. The sooner you get ...whatever your problem is out of your system, the sooner I can take you home and we can all get on with our lives. Besides...” He sits back and yawns. “I came all the way here to pick you up on basically zero notice. I had to go to Altea to get a wormhole. I had to sit in this seat and wait in line for a varga and a half with Lance roasting me the whole time because Shiro and Curtis got his anniversary card and my present is still who the fuck even knows where. _You owe me.”_

 

Keith is really going to let Adam fly this thing. Right now. Just like that. He’s so stunned it doesn’t even register that Keith just came for his whole life and all of his choices. “And you’re not worried about my eye or my hand or me flipping my shit and getting us killed out there,” he prompts, eyebrow raised.

 

“I’ll be right here,” Keith says. “If you start freaking out or something, I can lock out your controls. I’ll take over when you need a break, and you _will_ take breaks when I tell you to or I’ll turn around and bring you right back here. When we get back to Daibazaal we’ll do some training flights, and if you’re still okay you can start sitting in the pilot seat next time we go out on patrol.”

 

Huh.

 

The clear blue sky outside gives way to black and stars, and Keith does some stuff with the nav console. “Okay,” he says as the course comes up on the display. “She’s all yours. Easy on the throttle.”

 

And just like that, Adam is flying again. 

 

He’s maybe a little overly careful at first--Keith is right, this thing _is_ fast, faster than anything he’s ever flown before. But as Keith promised him it would, it gets easier. He gets used to it. And it feels _great._

 

Not quite great enough to completely push the thought of Takashi and Curtis and the hurt on their faces and in their voices out of his head, though. He feels terrible about doing this to them. Of course he does. He never wanted to hurt them.

 

But if he stays he’s just going to end up hurting them even more. Someday they’ll understand. 

 

This is for the best. For all of them. 

 

Adam keeps telling himself that all the way to Daibazaal. By the time they land, he’s almost started to believe it.

 

Almost.

 

* * *

 

Shiro drives them home in numb silence. Curtis stares at his feet all the way back to the house. Knowing him, he’s probably replaying the events of the last few weeks in his head, wondering what he could have done differently, wondering what he could have changed, wondering what the hell they could have said.

 

Curtis blames himself for this, Shiro is sure of it. He’s sure of it because he blames himself for it too. He doesn’t know what happened to set Adam off like this, other than the combination of heartbreak over being disqualified from the job he loved so much and maybe some frustration about not adapting to Earth life again as quickly as he thought he should, but there must have been something more they could have done to help him, right?

 

They walk in the front door, and they kick off their shoes. Later, Shiro will think he must have meant to go to the kitchen and put some coffee on or something, but they walk past the fireplace and all of those pictures and he knows Curtis can’t help it, he has to look at _that one picture,_ and the next thing Shiro knows they’re on the couch, Shiro cradling Curtis’ head in his lap, Curtis sobbing his heart out.

 

“He’ll come back,” Shiro tells him, over and over. “Keith’s right. You know him. He’ll come back.” He wants to believe that, and he knows Curtis does too, but Curtis just shakes his head.

 

It takes a long time for him to settle down, and in that time Shiro sheds more than a few tears of his own. But eventually Curtis’ tears taper off to the occasional sniffle, and Shiro kisses him on the forehead and gently slides out from under him. He brings in a box of tissues and tucks it up against Curtis’ side, and then he goes to the kitchen and checks the pantry. 

 

_Jackpot._

 

If there’s anything they can do to fix this mess, it’s not apparent to either of them right now but at least Shiro can take a little of the sting out of it. It’s something he isn’t completely comfortable with, something that normally falls into the realm of things he leaves to Curtis. Well, not today. Maybe scratch baking is still all witchcraft and sorcery to Shiro but surely he can read and follow the instructions on a damn box, right? Right.

 

Curtis picks his head up off the arm of the couch when he hears the eggs crack, and he sees the box of brownie mix sitting on the island, and he actually laughs a little. Okay. Good. That’s something. He doesn’t come flying into the kitchen to relieve Shiro of the whisk or the pan, he doesn’t hover to make sure the oven is at the right temperature, but he watches the whole process with a kind of morbid fascination.

 

The batter goes into the pan without incident. The pan goes into the oven. Shiro checks and double-checks the baking time, makes sure he’s looking at the time for the size of pan he’s using this time, sets the timer, and hopes like hell he hasn’t forgotten anything. 

 

He comes back to the couch, and Curtis cuddles up against his side. 

 

“This is all my fault,” Shiro sighs. Curtis just shakes his head, but Shiro keeps going anyway. “I know he was upset about what happened with Command and I know it wasn’t going to be easy to get used to living on Earth again after everything he’s been through, but I didn’t think--if I’d had any idea it was that bad I never would have put him in the simulator, I would have told him to take some more time off first--” 

 

“No, it’s not your fault.” Curtis is quiet for a while. He’s processing something in the background, Shiro can tell, but he’s not sure what and the best thing to do is to just leave him to it. “I don’t know.” he finally says. “Maybe all of that is part of it but it just feels like there’s something... like something just pushed him over the edge and I--” Curtis pauses there and then sighs and hangs his head. “I think it--I think it was _my_ fault.”

 

“What!? No. _No it wasn’t._ ”

 

Curtis throws up his hands, helplessly. “I didn’t mean to--his hand was cramping up at rehearsal, and I know I should have asked but I was just trying to help--”

 

“You--you rubbed his hand?”

 

_“Yes!”_

 

 _Oh, honey,_ Shiro thinks, and he can’t quite keep a smile off his face. “Come on. Give him some credit. He knows you didn’t mean anything weird by that!”

 

Curtis huffs out a sigh. “It’s a lot more likely than you trying to help him fly again.” 

 

No, Shiro thinks but doesn’t say, there’s no way that’s what set him off. Curtis and Adam were always kind of handsy even when they were just friends, and there’s no way a perfectly innocent little crampy hand massage could have freaked Adam out to the point of running off to Daibazaal. 

 

“Takashi...” Curtis swallows hard and snuggles in tighter against Shiro’s side. “You don’t think it’s _us,_ do you?”

 

“‘Us’ as in... nah.” Shiro shakes his head. “He--y’know.” He gestures at that picture on the mantel, and the memory card taped to the back of the frame. “He wanted this, right?”

 

“Well, yeah, but...” Another one of those careful pauses. “He wasn’t counting on coming back.”

 

Shiro frowns a little. That doesn’t sound right to him. He can’t really articulate why it doesn’t sound right, but... okay, maybe it’s kind of right. Maybe it’s part of the picture, but there’s something else here. 

 

Adam was happy to see them together. That wasn’t an act. He’s a shitty actor. He can’t fake happiness. Shiro has seen him try. Shiro saw him try that day he came home and said he’d volunteered for the Kerberos mission. Keith said Adam was thrilled to see their wedding pictures. Curtis said when they first reunited in medbay Adam told him in so many words that this was exactly what he wanted for them. They would have known. If he was faking it, they all would have known.

 

But Curtis is right about one thing. Something pushed him over the edge. The more Shiro thinks about it, the more sure he is that this was a fight-or-flight reaction, and whatever set it off was something Adam was afraid he couldn’t fight. As for what exactly that might have been... Shiro is coming up empty.

 

How are they going to fix this? 

 

 _Can_ they fix this?

  
The smell of brownies starts to drift through the house, and Shiro feels Curtis start to relax against him a little. They try talking this out a little more, but it feels like they’re thinking in circles. And Shiro isn’t sure, isn’t sure enough to say it out loud, isn’t sure it’s something he _can_ say out loud to Curtis but that knot in his stomach he’s felt ever since Adam came back... he thinks he can feel that, whatever it is, right in the center of those circles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh. This is the part I've been apologizing in advance for all this time. Aheh. Yeah.
> 
> I promise that a) Keith will absolutely not let Adam do anything stupid (or, well, _more_ stupid) and b) these idiots will all figure their shit out and *gestures helplessly towards "eventual happy ending" tag*


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I promised Shiro that if I even thought you’d changed your mind about this, I’d take you home,” Keith says, and Adam already doesn’t like where this conversation is headed. “And I meant it. Pack up. We’re leaving first thing tomorrow.”
> 
> “What!?” Adam backpedals a little and almost falls off the bench. “Are--are you high? I love it here! What makes you think I changed my mind?”
> 
> “Do you want a list?” Keith’s voice drops to that unnervingly spot-on imitation of Takashi’s again. “Get comfortable. Maybe go to the bathroom first. Or even better... you tell me.” He raises an eyebrow. “Ever since you asked me to come get you I’ve had this nagging feeling like there’s something you’re not telling me. Now I know it. So start talking, or start packing your shit. Now.”
> 
> All of a sudden, Adam feels that countdown timer hanging over his head again.

The capital city on Daibazaal is like nothing Adam has ever imagined, and at the same time it’s like any other big city he’s ever been to. The architecture is all sharp points and steep angles and soaring arches, dark violet and blue stone and metal and glass and big screens and brightly lit signs. There are food carts and buskers plying their trade on the street corners. There are couples holding hands and people walking their pets and kids in uniforms pouring off hoverbuses with bags slung over their shoulders, running down the street in packs. It’s busy and noisy and full of life, familiar and alien all at once.

 

The noise should bother him more than it does, Adam thinks, the noise and crowds and unfamiliar smells. It should definitely bother him that almost everyone on the packed hoverbus that takes them from the Blades’ HQ on the edge of town to Keith’s place in the heart of the city is Galra. The bus ride is long enough that by the time they get to their stop, it  _ is _ starting to get to him a little. 

 

But it quickly becomes clear that even though just about everyone around him is Galra, they don’t mean him any harm. Most of the ones on the bus are just reading or playing with their phones or wrangling their kids or staring out the window, just like any commuters he’s ever seen on Earth. Most of them don’t even notice him. The first time one makes eye contact with him, his throat goes dry and his blood runs cold for a second. But then the guy just gives him a friendly nod and goes back to whatever he’s reading on his tablet, and that’s it. 

 

Watching for Kosmo is kind of helping Adam’s anxiety, too. He’s not allowed on the bus, so he follows it and he’s sitting at every stop they pass, watching to see if they get off. When they don’t, he teleports to the next stop. When they do, he’s busy giving a food cart guy the most pitiful starving-dog look a giant space wolf can give. 

 

Of course Kosmo isn’t really starving. Adam filled the food bowl up himself twice on the way back and he knows Keith did at least once, but the guy still falls for it. He laughs and offers them some skewers of mystery meat, free of charge. It looks okay. It smells okay. And after a moment’s thought Keith takes him up on it, takes one for himself, and hands one to Adam. He holds a third down to Kosmo. Kosmo gently closes his teeth around the stick and strips the meat off it.

 

“Same rule as the Garrison chow hall,” Keith says. “If it tastes good, don’t ask.” And he tears into his own roast-beast-on-a-stick. “Mph. Yeah. Definitely don’t ask, this is great. Hey, how much for another one?”

 

Adam gives it a careful nibble while Keith buys a couple more skewers. It tastes like chicken, and that actually makes him laugh a little. Of course it tastes like chicken. Half the meat on the colony tasted like chicken, why wouldn’t Galra mystery meat?

 

Yeah. Daibazaal is okay. The relief he feels when they step into the quiet lobby of Keith’s building and leave the noise and crowds outside is still palpable, though.

 

“So,” Adam says while they ride the elevator up, “what do we need to do now?”

 

“Call it a day,” Keith says, and he yawns to drive the point home. Then Kosmo yawns, to further reinforce it. “I’ve got a spare room, you can have it but there’s nothing in it to sleep on so you can have the couch for now.”

 

That’s a little disappointing. Adam was hoping to get started with whatever administrative bullshit the Blades would require of him as soon as possible, but Keith and Kosmo do make a pretty convincing argument. They didn’t take a wormhole back. Keith made him fly the long way. Adam guesses he understands why. But it was a hell of a long flight and even as fast as Keith’s ship is, even though he took a couple of naps along the way, now that he’s standing still he can feel the fatigue starting to catch up with him.

 

The elevator stops, and the door slides open, and Adam follows Keith and Kosmo down the hall. Keith opens the door at the end and--oh, holy  _ shit. _

 

Keith’s apartment is kind of empty. He’s got a couch, a coffee table, and a TV-like thing in the living room and a little dinette set in the kitchen and not much else. But in his defense, it would take a lot of furniture to fill this place up. The living room and kitchen are huge, and there’s a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows with a door in the middle of it that leads out onto a surprisingly spacious patio. The dark carpet under Adam’s feet is thick and springy and all the window and door trim is some kind of lustrous dark red wood. There isn’t a speck of dust or stray space wolf hair in the place, and it smells clean and fresh. Adam suspects maid service is part of the package.

 

“You didn’t tell me you live in a corner penthouse in Galra Manhattan,” Adam says. Keith snickers and kicks his boots off and shuffles off to the kitchen. “How the hell can you afford a place like this?”

 

“I can’t. The super’s a Voltron fan so he lets me have it for free, and I’m not gonna say no to that. Relief work is really rewarding but uh...” He snorts a little and opens up a cupboard. The packages of Earth snacks throw Adam off guard a little. “The paycheck, not so much. It’s enough to get by, but I’m saving up for a house and a speeder so... y’know. Budget’s kinda tight, even with the free rent.”

 

Oh good. Keith is doing just fine at the “financial responsibility” part of adulting, at least. That’s one less thing for Adam to worry about. He drops his bag on the couch and wanders out onto the patio while Keith forages. “So you’ve got a fan club here, huh?”

 

_ “Shit.” _ Keith comes out onto the patio and plops down on the bench with a box of Cheez-Its and a bottle of something with a label Adam can’t read. “I did  _ not  _ ask for this. At least they’re not begging me to run for office anymore but... eh, sure, free apartment, the food carts give me free stuff, the Blades get plenty of funding, I guess it’s okay.”

 

“Mm.” The view from Keith’s patio is spectacular. The colony was beautiful, but this... it’s amazing in its own way, and Adam can’t stop staring out at it. The city seems to stretch on forever. Far off in the distance, he sees jagged mountains, impossibly steep. It’s breathtaking. He takes out his phone, snaps a picture, and... 

 

And who’s he going to send it to? 

 

His parents don’t have the fancy space phones. The only people on his contacts list who do are Takashi, Curtis, and Veronica. He’s sure not going to send it to Takashi or Curtis, and he suspects that by now Veronica has heard what happened and she’s probably itching to rip him a few new ones. Better give her a few days to cool off.

 

“Huh. Yeah.” Keith takes his own phone out and starts a text to someone. “I’m gonna let Shiro know we got here okay. Do you, uh...” There’s an uncomfortably long pause. “Do you want me to tell him anything?”

 

Adam just shakes his head.

 

“What about Curtis?”

 

“No.” Adam puts his phone away and turns to head back inside. “You know what, you’re right. It’s time to turn in. Which one’s my room?”

 

“The empty one,” Keith says.

 

He’s not kidding. The room is bare. Nothing but floor and walls and some spare blankets and stuff stashed in the closet. A thought bubbles up in the back of Adam’s head, a thought he doesn’t really want to have, about how much more inviting Curtis and Takashi’s guest room was.

 

He shoves it away and changes into his sleep shorts and T-shirt, grabs a pillow and blanket, goes back into the living room, and flops face-down onto the couch.

 

* * *

 

As if things weren’t harrowing enough with Adam up and running off the way he did, it’s finals week. 

 

The written exams come first, and while there’s not a whole lot Shiro has to actually  _ do  _ other than sit in the room and watch the cadets to make sure nobody’s trying to cheat, the kids are nervous and that stuff is contagious. And by the time the morning exams are done and lunchtime rolls around, Shiro just can’t stand the thought of standing in line in a busy, noisy chow hall. He goes to his office and shuts the door, then gets out his phone to send Curtis a quick text, something to the effect of “can’t handle the chow hall, come to my office and I’ll get something delivered.” 

 

But first, he notices a couple of missed texts from Keith.  _ We’re here,  _ the first one says. Then:  _ Don’t freak out but I let him fly. _

 

Shiro isn’t sure how it’s possible, but he thinks he can feel his hair turning even whiter.  _ Too late,  _ he replies.  _ I’m freaking out. Why would you do that!? _

 

There’s no reply, not for a long time. Long enough that Shiro is starting to wonder if he should apologize. 

 

_ He did fine,  _ Keith texts back.  _ See for yourself. _

 

There are some attachments with that text--flight data from Keith’s ship. The co-pilot did most of the flying. Shiro assumes that would be Adam, and that’s a relief. Shiro knows how Keith’s ship works. He’s taken it for a spin once or twice, and he knows Keith could have locked Adam’s controls out and taken over at the first sign of trouble. It looks like he did take over for a little while every few hours. Some of the breaks are quick ones, and some are long enough to suggest that Adam got a decent amount of rest on the way. And although Shiro has to wonder how hard it was to convince Adam to take a nap or get a snack or whatever, Keith never had to lock out his controls.

 

Shiro sits there and stares at the record of Adam’s perfectly uneventful flight from Earth to Daibazaal, and an idea starts brewing in his head.

 

_ Do me a solid and keep sending me this stuff,  _ he texts. 

 

_ Sure,  _ Keith sends back.  _ If you promise you’ll rub Command’s nose in it. _

 

Despite everything that’s going on, a slow and kind of wicked grin spreads across Shiro’s face.  _ That’s the plan. _

 

Keith sends him two emojis: an evil grin and a thumbs-up.

 

Shiro tabs over and orders some lunch from that Italian place they like and makes extra sure to get some dessert. Then he sends Curtis a text:  _ Come to my office for lunch. Me and Keith are plotting. I’ll tell you all about it. And I ordered you cheesecake. _

 

_ Ooh,  _ Curtis texts back.  _ Be right there. _

 

* * *

 

One thing becomes clear to Adam right away: he’s going to have to get his own place.

 

He doesn’t mind sharing a place with Keith. And it’s a nice apartment. Really nice. The view is spectacular, the neighbors are quiet (or else the walls are soundproof), and it’s big enough to give them both plenty of space. He doesn’t even mind the fact that he woke up in the middle of the night with Kosmo using his chest for a headrest.

 

But at the end of the day Keith was Takashi’s kid first, and some things kind of rubbed off on him. 

 

When Keith’s alarm goes off in the next room Adam opens his eye and sees not the least little bit of light in the windows. Sure, maybe it wasn’t quite dark yet when he crapped out for the night but come  _ on!  _ And maybe he could ignore the alarm but he can’t ignore the TV-thing Keith turns on at an absolutely obscene volume level when he pads into the living room. He sure as hell can’t ignore Kosmo trying to lick his face.

 

And then Keith turns  _ all  _ the lights on. “Hey, time to get up,” he calls, and Adam shoves his head under the pillow and extends a middle finger in Keith’s general direction. Kosmo just licks it. And of course Keith knows he doesn’t really mean it, and all it does is set him off laughing. “Yeah, sorry, but the lock isn’t keyed to your biometrics yet and if I go out, you either have to go with me or stay here till I get back. And we need to get you processed in and stuff, so...  _ up.” _

 

“Izzat an order?” Adam mumbles into the pillow. Kosmo continues to try and shove his nose under it.

 

“Could be,” Keith says in a tone of voice just threatening enough to make Adam not want to press the issue further. “...huh. That’s right. I  _ do _ outrank you now, don’t I?”

 

It gets worse.

 

“Point me towards the coffee,” Adam grumbles as he shuffles into the kitchen. Keith just shrugs-- _ sorry-- _ and hands him a familiar but disappointing tallboy can covered in day-glow edgelord graphics. It’s one of those Godawful carbonated energy drinks from Earth. The fridge is full of it. And now that Adam thinks about it, he  _ does  _ remember Keith filling a cart with that shit on one of their shopping trips.

 

Adam cracks the can open and takes a swig and feels his tastebuds sort of shrivel in on themselves. It’s caffeine and it’s better than nothing, but it’s not much better.

 

“Please tell me I don’t have to get up at asscrack-of-dawn o’clock in the morning every single day.” Keith hands him what looks like some kind of alien version of a Pop-Tart complete with frosting in a color that no food should be. “I was just getting used to not having the goats wake me up.”

 

“Nah,” Keith says. He bites into his own alien Pop-Tart as Adam looks on, horrified. He didn’t even heat it up! Doesn’t he have a toaster? Can they go get one? Today? Are toasters even a thing here!? “Some days we get up earlier.” And then he washes that alien Pop-Tart down with a big glug of his neon edgelord juice.

 

Adam’s eye twitches.

 

“Okay,” he snaps. “Fine. But when we get done with whatever we need to do today, you’re taking me to whatever kind of grocery store you have around here and we’re getting some decent food _\--”_ Keith opens his mouth and Adam cuts him off with one raised finger--not _that_ finger, this time. “Yes. I know it’s Galra food. I lived on a remote undeveloped planet for literal years and I didn’t starve, I will figure out how to cook the Galra shit. You might outrank me but you’re still my kid and you are _not_ living like this--” He waves the Pop-Tart for emphasis. Kosmo perks up and licks his chops like he thinks Adam is getting ready to throw it for him. “--while I have anything to say about it. And who do we have to torture to get a coffee machine in here?”

 

“I can ask Shiro to send us one,” Keith says, “but intergalactic mail’s kinda slow. Could be a few weeks. Or months. Depends on... actually, I don’t know what it depends on, but...” One corner of his mouth turns up in a way Adam really doesn’t like. “By the time it gets here you’ll probably be back on Earth anyway.”

 

Adam’s eye twitches again. “Oh, you think so?”

 

The other corner of Keith’s mouth turns up in a way Adam likes even less.

 

* * *

 

Curtis tries calling Adam’s parents, and that’s less than enlightening.

 

Adam called them the day before Keith came to get him, but he didn’t tell them much. Just that he was going to be doing some relief work in space for a while. He said he wasn’t sure when he’d be back and it might be some time before they’d hear from him again. 

 

He didn’t lie to them, not exactly, but he sort of left out the parts about his emotional state in the days leading up to that. 

 

Curtis almost tells them. Adam is their son, after all, and they’ve just gotten him back. They deserve to know the truth.

 

In the end, he doesn’t. He feels horrible about that. But he doesn’t even know what the whole truth  _ is  _ and worse, he can’t shake the feeling that it’s at least partly his fault.

 

* * *

 

Adam did not expect paperwork and forms and other such administrative crap to be part of this process, but here they are.

 

“So basically,” Keith starts as he’s going over the tablet thing with all the paperwork on it, “this says that I, your immediate supervisor--heh, I’m never going to get tired of saying that--”

 

“Laugh it up, kiddo.” 

 

Keith does, for a while. “--that I’m satisfied that you’ve had enough training elsewhere that we can skip the newbie stuff and start putting you on missions right away. I know you and I know you won’t do anything stupid. Please don’t prove me wrong. Sign there.”

 

Adam signs on the line Keith is pointing at. “How long of an enlistment are we talking about here?”

 

“As long or as short as you want.” Keith looks over the form, initials something, and passes the tablet thing back. “This is the ‘I understand there’s a chance I might die’ release. Sign there.”

 

“...the  _ what now.” _

 

Keith waves a hand. “It’s pretty safe out there these days, you’ll probably be fine. Most of the time it’s not any more dangerous than any relief work on Earth but we gotta cover our asses.” Adam shrugs and signs, and Keith takes the tablet back. “But no, there’s no like, minimum commitment or anything. Say the word and I’ll take you home.”

 

“Good to know.” And then, maybe a little too quickly, he adds: “Not that I’m going to want to anytime soon.”

 

“Mhm. Sure. Well... that’s all the pencil-pushing crap so let’s go get you suited up.”

 

They head off to the supply counter, where a grandmotherly old Galra lady takes some measurements and then hands Adam a folded suit. 

 

A suit that is very comfortable, he finds when he tries it on, but is a little... _ clingier  _ than his usual wardrobe. Okay, he should have expected that, he’s seen Keith in the same kind of suit, obviously he was going to get one too, but this thing leaves precious little to the imagination. At least it’s got a built-in cup but...  _ God _ .

 

“Okay, so--” Keith tugs the suit’s hood up over Adam’s head. “Your mask can do a lot of cool stuff. About the coolest thing it does is keep you from dying if you’re out in space or underwater or somewhere with an atmosphere you can’t breathe. Don’t worry, if that happens it’ll auto-activate. Otherwise, if you want it, you just... think about it. Go ahead. Give it a try.”

 

Adam frowns a little.  _ Mask?  _ he thinks. Nothing happens. He tries again with... with feeling this time? Still nothing.

 

“Here, let me--” Keith pulls his own hood up and closes his eyes for a second, and his mask shimmers into being over his face. “Maybe it’ll help if you can picture it like this.”

 

Huh. Okay. Adam shuts his eye, thinks about what he just saw Keith do, and--

 

Oh. Wow. That’s... that’s  _ freaky. _

 

“Hey, you got it. See, I told you, you’ll get the hang of this stuff. So the HUD should be configuring itself so you can read everything...”

 

“Yeah, it’s doing some--okay, it’s showing up in English now. Hey, can this thing compensate for my eye, or--”

 

Keith pulls a face. “Not... really? But it does some other stuff that might help you. Night vision, infrared, auto-translator, stuff like that. I’ll show you later. Lose the mask and follow me.”

 

It takes a few tries for Adam to dismiss the thing. “Now what?”

 

“Now what” is a stretch of equipment issue and training that goes on for hours. Keith shows him how to drive the forklift-type thing they use to load and unload supplies, and how to use all the emergency equipment and first aid stuff and all that. He gets a weapon. Keith tells him he probably won’t have to use it much if at all, but better to have it and not need it than the other way around. He doesn’t get one of those knives Keith has--something about those needing Galra DNA to work. But they do have a neat collapsible quarterstaff that fits in a hip holster. It activates and deactivates much like his mask and that, too, takes some practice. 

 

Finally, Keith drags him back to the ship and plops him into the co-pilot seat and shows him some of the more advanced features--weapons, tractor beam, scanners, stuff like that. And then he gets to fly it again.

 

This time, he gets to take off and now he sees why Keith wouldn’t let him fly it until they were out of Earth’s atmosphere. He forgets how fast and how agile this thing is and he hits the throttle maybe a little too hard and...

 

_ Note to self,  _ Adam thinks, staring at the dark of space on the display where literally two seconds ago there was clear daytime sky while Keith sits there in the pilot seat curled up in a cackling wheezing ball slapping the armrest,  _ don’t do that again.  _ Clearly the ship has some kind of gravity/inertia/whatever dampers, because by all rights that ascent should have crushed them flat in their seats. They should have blacked out, at the very least. But they’re fine. No damage, except to Adam’s dignity. 

 

Even worse, the controller is laughing herself sick over the comm, and a few people in the background as well.

 

“We’re not laughing at you,” Keith says when he’s able to talk again. “We’re laughing  _ with  _ you.”

 

_ “I’m _ not laughing!” Adam snaps, and that just sets Keith off all over again.

 

“Yeah, sorry,” the controller finally says. “Don’t worry. Everyone does it the first time. Have fun out there, we’ll see you later.”

 

And after that, it’s fine. They cruise around the system, take a break at what looks for all the world like a space truck stop complete with kitschy junk and mystery meat jerky on the store shelves, practice takeoffs and landings, and swing by the target range so Adam can play with the weapons and stuff. And by the time they land back on Daibazaal, he’s feeling pretty good about all of this. 

 

At least, he is until they’re done for the day and Keith leads him to a corner store a couple blocks away from the apartment.

 

He can’t read any of the signs or labels, and that’s sub-optimal but he can get by. He can’t read the price tags either, and that’s a problem. Did Keith learn how to read Galra? If not, how the hell does he do any shopping here? That  _ would  _ explain why he’s living off day-glow caffeinated swill and Cheez-Its and alien Pop-Tarts and space truck stop food, but...

 

“Try your mask,” Keith suggests. Right, he  _ did  _ say it had an auto-translator function, didn’t he? 

 

It doesn’t offer a perfect translation--or else there really is something here called  _ yelmor foot chitin  _ in which case that’s absolutely not going to be on the menu.  _ Umami worm  _ doesn’t bode well either. But at least Adam can read the price tags. At least, he thinks that’s what the number preceded by an untranslated symbol is. 

 

After a little browsing he locates some vegetables that look and smell like onions and tomatoes and sweet peppers and even some noodles and familiar-smelling spices and stuff. Okay. He can work with this. “What’s our budget?” he asks Keith as he drops a package of ground red meat  _ (kaltenecker shoulder mulch, _ says the label) into his basket.

 

“For this movement? Uh...” Keith coughs softly. “About seven hundred ICC.”

 

“...did you say ‘ick?’”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Is that a unit of currency or is that commentary on the amount?”

 

Keith glances down at the price tag on that package of meat and grimaces.  _ “Yep.” _

 

Adam puts the meat back in the cooler and sighs. Wait--there’s something that looks like meatballs. Much more reasonably priced. His mask translates the label into one slightly unsettling word:  _ meatfruit.  _ Okay. Not ideal if it’s anything like the veggie burgers he’s tried, but it’s protein and it’s cheap. He drops a package of them into the basket. Right, that should do it. 

 

Keith has one small saucepan and one small skillet in his apartment, and the sharpest knife in the place is the one Keith carries on his belt. It’s fine. They make it work. And when they’re done, they have a pot of something that looks and smells pretty close to spaghetti and meatballs.

 

Adam casually tosses Kosmo one of those meatballs and he snaps it right up. Okay. Good sign.

 

“Oh hell yeah,” Keith says when he taste-tests a forkful. Even better sign. So Adam loads his own bowl and they go out onto the patio to eat. It’s pretty good. It’ll take some getting used to, but so did colony food. So did Earth food, once he got used to the colony food.  _ It’ll be fine, _ he thinks.  _ I’ll get used to this too. _

 

Then he bites down on something hard in the middle of a meatball. 

 

_ Bone, _ he thinks at first. Because that happens with ground meat sometimes. Unexpected and unpleasant, but no big deal. Except this feels way too big. Way too round. Way too smooth. He discreetly spits it into his hand and--nope.  _ Nope.  _ That’s not right. That’s not right  _ at all. _

 

The worst part of this is, the meatballs taste great. The texture is fine, too. Chewy. Meaty. Perfect. They’re delicious. They look, smell, taste, and chew just like meatballs. 

 

Just like meatballs, except for the fact that Adam just spat out a fucking  _ seed _ . 

 

It’s not a small seed, either. It’s the size of a chickpea. He tries to convince himself that it’s just some kind of seasoning, some spice that somehow bypassed the grinder. And that almost works. But there is a delicate web of what sure as hell looks like narrow blood vessels just under the translucent skin covering that seed--and there are dark bruises blooming where his teeth came down on it.

 

“Uh,” Adam says. That’s all he  _ can  _ say. He holds up the seed where Keith can see it. Keith just shrugs and chews up a “meatball” and spits the seed over the rail like it’s no big deal. 

 

“Yeah?” he says. “What’d you think  _ meatfruit  _ meant?”

 

* * *

 

They’re curled up together on the couch with the TV on, barely watching it, when Shiro’s phone goes off. He doesn’t really want to let go of Curtis to pick it up, but this whole thing with Adam has him on edge and he knows damn well that the one time he ignores it will be the one time it’s Keith telling him the shit has hit the fan out there.

 

So he picks it up. It  _ is  _ from Keith--a thumbs-up emoji, and more flight data. Curtis perks up a little when Shiro holds the phone down where he can see it. 

 

“Wow. He’s really picking it up fast,” Curtis says, looking over the firing range scores. 

 

“Yeah.” Shiro sends Keith a quick  _ thanks, how’s he doing? Like, other than flying?  _ and puts his phone back on the end table.

 

Was that really all Adam needed to do? Get back behind a real stick? Keith says he did fine all the way to Daibazaal, he did fine on their training flight today, could it have really been that simple? If Shiro had just plopped him into the back seat of a trainer and let him drive for a little while, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe he wouldn’t have felt like he needed to run away like this.

 

No... if that was all it was, why didn’t he bolt right after that first awful day in the simulator? Why did he stick it out another two weeks? Unless he’d been planning to leave for that long, which Shiro seriously doubts. He was doing better for a while, and then he just--

 

His phone goes off again.  _ Kinda grumpy but otherwise ok I guess?  _ There’s a long pause.  _ IDK but I feel like there’s something he’s not telling me about all this. _

 

_ You and me both,  _ Shiro texts back, then he puts his phone back on the table and lets out a long, deep sigh into the top of Curtis’ head. Well, whatever it is, maybe Keith can get it out of him. They’ll just have to be patient.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Keith wakes Adam up at the buttcrack of dawn, tells him to pack a bag for a few days, and takes him to the landing pad. There’s a familiar-looking trio waiting for them there--Keith’s Galra lady friends.

 

“This the new pilot?” Zethrid asks Keith as he’s stowing his stuff. “Your one-eyed human buddy?”

 

Later, Adam will think about this and just sort of draw up into a ball and watch his entire life belatedly flash before his eyes and ask himself exactly what the hell, shit, and/or fuck he was thinking when he said this to a gigantic Galra lady who could probably knock his head clean off with a flick of her pinky, but without missing a beat he glances up at her and replies, “says the one-eyed Galra lady?”

 

Adam can  _ hear  _ the blood drain out of Keith’s face. Ezor’s jaw drops. Acxa looks extremely uncomfortable.

 

And Zethrid... 

 

She just breaks out in a big toothy grin and cuffs him on the shoulder hard enough to make him stagger. “About time we got one that can take a joke.”

 

There’s a collective sigh of relief from the other three. “So,” Keith says while Adam stuffs his bag into his cubby, “we’re going out for real this time. Routine patrol, we’ll be listening for distress calls and stuff like that. If nothing comes up, we’ll be out for about a movement. If it does, we’ll be out as long as it takes. You know where the bunks and the food goo dispenser are. Me, you, and Acxa are going to do the flying. Half a shift in the pilot seat, half in the co-pilot seat. Zethrid and Ezor can fly if they have to but they’d rather not.”

 

“Nah.” Zethrid shoves her bag into its place. “We got a taste for the big cruisers now, these little dinky things aren’t our style.”

 

“And,” Keith goes on, “when I tell you to take five, or when I tell you your shift is over, don’t argue with me. We need you alert out here and that means you chill when I tell you to chill. Any questions?”

 

“Guess not,” Adam says.

 

His first shift is pretty uneventful. Five vargas in the pilot seat with Keith flying co-pilot, five vargas in the co-pilot seat with Acxa in the pilot seat. She’s a good pilot. She doesn’t ask any uncomfortable questions. And they’ve already heard enough about each other that they can skip all the pointless small talk. He likes her. He sees why Veronica likes her, too.

 

And then Keith comes up to sit in the pilot seat and tells him to go get some sleep, and that’s it for his first day on a real live patrol.

 

There’s one minor scare a couple vargas into his next shift, when they cross paths with a formation of four Galra fighters flanking a larger ship. The sight of them sets alarm bells off in Adam’s head and threatens to wake that cold slimy thing up in the pit of his stomach... until he sees the shape they’re in. 

 

The fighters look like they’re being held together with duct tape and bailing wire and chewed gum and prayers. The larger ship looks like a cargo ship with a piece of rickety ground artillery bolted on it. All of them have a symbol sloppily painted on them in a shade of green that reminds Adam of Keith’s horrible energy drinks, like a lopsided Galra skull with two floppy crossbones under it. 

 

"Aww, look,” Keith says. He doesn’t sound concerned in the least. “Shitty space pirates. They’re so cute. Hey, Zethrid? Can you come up to the cockpit for a minute?"

 

Adam is just about to ask about the protocol for shitty space pirates when Zethrid pops into the cockpit, takes one look at the display, and just sighs and shakes her head. Apparently she knows the leader of this bunch. And all she has to do to convince him to take his ratty fighters and his wannabe warship elsewhere is get on the comm and ask him very nicely to move along before someone gets hurt. And that’s it. Problem solved. Adam suspects the poor guy is running off to change his pants right now, but other than that, there’s no harm done.

 

“Yeah, we let Zethrid try talking to the pirates first,” Keith tells Adam when he asks what the hell  _ that  _ was about. “She used to be one. Most of them are scared of her. Especially the wannabes.”

 

Acxa comes up for her shift in the pilot seat a little while later, and Adam ducks into the back for a quick lunch once she’s settled in.

 

He’s never going to get used to food goo. It looks like badly set lime Jello. It smells okay, but nothing like lime Jello. It tastes slightly less okay and feels like a mouthful of snot going down. He eats it because it’s what they have, but he doesn’t have to like it.

 

Ezor slides up to his elbow and waves a familiar-looking packet in front of him, and he nearly weeps with gratitude. He never thought he would be so glad to see Bi-Boh-Que-flavored Comet Crunchies again.

 

“Y’know,” Adam says as he tears into his bag, “I just noticed something funny.”

 

“What?” Ezor rips her own bag open, tosses a Comet Crunchie high into the air, and catches it in her mouth.

 

Adam laughs and taps his eyepatch. “We’re the majority here. Me, Zethrid, and you.”

 

“Oh. Um.” Ezor reaches up and sort of sheepishly takes her eyepatch off to reveal a perfectly good eye under it. “It just looks cool? Sorry.”

 

* * *

 

The spring chorus concert is one of the last landmarks in the school year before graduation. It’s a big deal for the whole chorus. The winter concert is all Christmas-and-other-assorted-winter-holiday music and that’s fine, but for the spring concert they break out the  _ really  _ fun stuff, especially with the adults. Curtis looks forward to it all year. He always has.

 

And normally, when a chorus concert is over and Curtis comes out from backstage in that black formal uniform, all Shiro can think about is how gorgeous he looks in it. But tonight...  _ oof.  _ Curtis doesn’t get angry the way most people do, but the way he looks right now is about as close as he comes.

 

He had a solo this year. Not a huge one, and that was fine with him, but he did have a solo. And he did great. What happened wasn’t his fault at all. 

 

The accompanist wasn’t watching the director and, apparently, wasn’t even listening to the singing going on right in front of him. He came in  _ way  _ too early, stepped right over the last few bars of Curtis’ solo, and threw the director and the whole chorus off. They recovered pretty quickly but Shiro could see it in Curtis’ face as he took his place back up in the tenor row--he looked like he wanted to just crawl under the risers and hide. Like he was trying to figure out how  _ he  _ could have kept that from happening, even though it was completely out of his control.

 

And that would have been bad enough, but then when Shiro gives him his customary post-concert hug he huffs out a breath and exclaims, “He just yelled at me!”

 

Oh  _ hell  _ no. He can’t mean what Shiro thinks he means. “Who yelled at you?”

 

_ “Wade!  _ He said I was dragging! I know I wasn’t, I was watching Imogen and--” __

 

Again, Shiro knows next to nothing about music other than what sounds good in his ears and what doesn’t, but he was watching Curtis and Curtis was, as he claims, watching the director and Wade was sitting at the piano staring off into space. So he just holds Curtis tight and rubs his back and makes little reassuring noises and idly wonders if he could use the security tools in his arm to disable the ignition on Wade’s car. He hears snippets of conversation from the other singers and their friends and relatives as they pass and none of them, absolutely  _ none of them,  _ are blaming Curtis for this. Many of them are talking varying degrees of shit about Wade.

 

And then Nadia comes bouncing up in  _ her _ black formal uniform and slaps Curtis right between the shoulder blades. “Hey, guess what?” she bubbles. There is a kind of vaguely malevolent glee sparkling in her eyes that’s giving Shiro a mild case of the willies. “Imogen saw Wade giving you a hard time and now she is like ten thousand percent  _ done  _ with his crap and she is back there  _ right now _ reading him the riot act. Like, I think he’s actually getting really for real fired right this very minute. You wanna come watch?”

 

Curtis actually snorts out a little laugh. “No. God, no. It’s fine. I’ll take your word for it.”

 

“Okay, but trust me, it’s glorious and you’re missing it. Hey. Nobody blames you, okay?  _ Nobody.  _ Just in case you were worried about that.”

 

“That... that actually does make me feel a little better,” Curtis says. “Thanks, Nadia.”

 

Nadia pats him on the back again, and then she spots the rest of the MFE crew on the other side of the lobby. “Oop, gotta go. See ya.”

 

As the MFE crew heads out into the night, Shiro hears Nadia say something to the effect of  _ ugh I know right, this never happened with Commander Wolf. _

 

Curtis hears it too, and he just sighs into Shiro’s shoulder.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the patrol is pretty quiet. They help a ship with some minor repairs, and they find another whose navigator took a very wrong turn, update their horribly obsolete nav charts for them, and point them in the right direction. 

 

But other than that, nothing much happens and there’s plenty of time for Adam to get to know the rest of his crew. They really are a pretty decent bunch. It’s interesting to hear their stories, and they’re interested in his. They like his music, and he likes most of theirs, and they spend a lot of their downtime shooting the shit and swapping audio files and playing some kind of blackjack-like card game for Comet Crunchies and playing with Kosmo. It’s like an intergalactic road trip, and Adam is enjoying it.

 

Most of the time, anyway. 

 

He still catches himself staring at that one picture now and then. He misses them. Of course he does. But this is for the best, for all of them. 

 

Or so he keeps telling himself.

 

He’s doing fine in the cockpit. No flashbacks, no panic attacks. No asteroid fields either, but he figures he’ll burn that bridge when they come to it. 

 

Keith’s ship is fast and agile and a lot of fun to fly. Adam gets the impression that it could probably even hold its own and then some in combat, if it came to that. But most of the flying they’re doing feels more like cargo work... and the weirdest part of that is, Adam is starting to acquire a taste for it. 

 

Yeah, he was a fighter pilot first and he loved it and he still does. But he’s starting to get used to a few things he didn’t have in a fighter. Like a co-pilot. Like the ability to get up and walk around a little once in a while. Like a galley on board, even if all it has is food goo on tap and Ezor’s junk food stash and Keith’s edgelord juice. Like an actual damn  _ bathroom _ on board. Like being able to turn autopilot on in the quiet stretches and just watch the stars and planets and all the cool space stuff he hasn’t had a chance to see in person. 

 

He’s noticed something else, too. This kind of flying doesn’t need the kind of quick hand on the throttle he was used to in a fighter. Most of the time, once they’re up to cruising speed, he can let go of the throttle altogether. It’s a lot easier on his hand, for sure.

 

He thinks about what Takashi said, about how the Garrison needed cargo pilots more than fighter pilots and that’s probably what he would have ended up flying. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wishes he’d just asked to go straight to the cargo sim instead of dicking around with the MFE sim. Maybe he’d still have a lot of work to do, but he’d be that much closer to--

 

He rips that thought up by the roots and throws it onto his mental compost pile. No point in thinking about any of that now. He resigned. Even if he goes back, he sure won’t be flying for the Garrison again. Or doing anything else for them. 

 

And then near the end of their patrol, just as they’re about to wrap it up and head back to Daibazaal, a call comes in. “Huh.” Keith frowns at the comm panel. “It’s... from your colony?” He taps the panel. “This is Blade Team Alpha, what can we help you with?”

 

“Oh hi, is this Adam’s friend?” comes a familiar voice through the speakers, and Adam breaks out into a huge grin. “Um, just so you know we’ve got a name now, so... this is Cherrin from Haven Colony.”

 

“Cherrin!” Man, it’s good to hear his voice. “How’s it going out there?”

 

“Oh hey, Adam! I’m kind of running the new comm center but you probably figured that out. And we’re on a trade route now! Not one of the big ones and we’re pretty much just a rest stop but every once in a while we get some--wait.  _ Adam? _ What are you doing out there? I thought you were going back to Earth!”

 

“Yeah, I uh...” Adam clears his throat. “I changed my mind. Stuff happened. Y’know.” He does not look at Keith. He knows Keith is making a face he’d have to say something about. “So... everything okay? What’s the problem?”

 

“Well...” Cherrin hems and haws a bit. “It’s not exactly a... _problem,_ I guess? But, um... there’s someone new here and he’s really nice and all but we’re kinda worried about him, we think we know what’s wrong but we can’t get off the planet to check so... if you’re out this way and you’re not too busy can you come see if you can help him?”

 

Adam looks over at Keith. “Okay, I know this might not be the kind of thing Blades do but...”

 

Keith chews that over for a while. “You know what,” he says, “I’d kind of like to see if... yeah, sure, let’s check it out.” He checks the nav charts. “We could be there in a couple of quintants. But, uh...” He makes a face at whatever he sees there. “We’d have to go through the asteroid belt. Otherwise we’ll have to take the long way and... I don’t think you want to do that. Your call. I can fly it if you need me to.”

 

Adam feels his blood run cold.  _ Shit. _ Okay, he knew this was going to happen sooner or later, but... God, this isn’t just any asteroid belt, this is  _ the  _ asteroid belt. The one that almost killed him. The one that left him shipwrecked.

 

But he can’t avoid it forever, can he?

 

_ Why not?  _ that sour little voice smirks in the back of his head.  _ You’re avoiding Curtis and Takashi just fine, why not blow off the asteroid belt too? _

 

Adam grits his teeth and swallows hard. “We’re on our way,” he says, and Cherrin and Keith both have the decency to not comment on the strain in his voice.

 

He barely sleeps on the way to Haven. All he can think about is that fucking asteroid belt. It also doesn’t help that quarters are tight on the ship and forget sawing logs, Zethrid snores like the whole goddamn  _ mill _ and  _ how the hell does Ezor sleep all curled up next to her while she’s doing that? _

 

He knows lying there in his bunk freaking himself out is definitely not going to make it any easier, but he can’t help it. He tries playing with some of those little relaxing games Curtis loaded up on his phone. All that does is make him think about Curtis and worry about how he and Takashi are doing back home.

 

They’re probably fine. 

 

* * *

 

It’s pretty rare for Curtis’ therapy appointments to be “fun” in the same way that Takashi’s sometimes are, but this one is coming closer to it than he likes. There’s a basket of little fidget toys and such on the coffee table in front of the couch he’s sitting cross-legged on. Usually he doesn’t need them. Today, he does. He’s got a blue pipe cleaner that he’s twirling and twisting around his fingers and straightening back out, and it’s not helping much. 

 

“Curtis. How long have you been coming to see me?”

 

Curtis twists that pipe cleaner around his finger and shrugs. “About five years, I guess.”

 

Dr. Sung nods. “Now... you know that’s an acceptable answer if it’s an honest one, but I think this is the first time you’ve ever said ‘I don’t know’ when I asked you how you felt about something. So I have to ask...  _ is  _ that an honest answer?”

 

He doesn’t answer that. Not for a long time. And even when he does, it’s not a direct answer and he’s not even sure why he’s asking this, but...

 

“Is it weird that I wasn’t jealous when I saw Adam and Takashi together?” He twirls the pipe cleaner the other way. It feels flimsy. It’s not helping. He absently reaches into the basket for more, and that’s a little better. “I mean. Not even a little. When I saw them hugging I was just like... ‘aww.’ I was glad they talked about what happened with them. Is that ...wrong?”

 

“Unusual, maybe.” She smiles at him. “Wrong? No. Absolutely not. You trust your husband and you trust your friend. Those are good things.”

 

“Yeah, maybe.” Curtis twists the ends of his pipe cleaners together while he thinks. “I wasn’t jealous when they first got together, either. Even though I liked Takashi. I just... I just wanted them to be happy. Both of them.” He smooths a little kink out of that blue pipe cleaner. “A long time ago I used to have these dreams about--about  _ them.  _ I didn’t have them for a long time, not since Takashi got sick but... it’s happening again. I know it’s just a dream, it doesn’t mean anything, but it scares me, what if I start talking in my sleep...”

 

“What kind of dreams? Nightmares?” 

 

“No, they’re, um...” Curtis shakes his head and laughs nervously. “Like... the opposite of nightmares.”

 

That, thankfully, is enough to get the point across.  _ “Ah. _ Gotcha. You know... there’s something that’s never really made sense to me. You told me you never stayed with anyone very long before Adam. But we’ve never really talked about  _ why, _ have we?”

 

_ Ouch.  _ Right for the jugular, God. She’s right, of course. He’d told her that more than once, didn’t think it was relevant to much of anything. He’s never really examined it, though somewhere in the back of his mind he figured she’d probably bring that up someday. Why now, though?

 

Dr. Sung glances down at the pipe cleaners in his hands. “I get the feeling you’re trying to sort of talk around something here. You know that nothing you say is going to leave this office.”

 

“I know.”

 

“If you think you need permission to call it what it is,  _ I’m giving it to you right now.” _

 

“I’m... I think I’ve always...” Curtis hangs his head and sighs. “I can’t say it. If I say it, it’s real. And then I have to do something about it. I’d have to tell _Takashi_ and I can’t. And besides, it’s--it’s _weird.”_

 

“Okay. Well. Let’s take those in order, huh?” She gives him a little smile and counts those points off on her fingers. “One: if you’re really not ready to say it, again, that’s valid. Two: I think that is exactly why you need to hear yourself say it out loud. Three: no you don’t, not unless you want to or unless someone will die if you don’t--” Curtis can’t help but puff out a little laugh at that one. “Four: it might be a good idea but again, no, you don’t  _ have _ to. And five... weird? Please. Curtis, I have been doing this for a  _ very  _ long time and if what’s troubling you is something I’ve never heard, I will go to the BX right now, buy a hat, and  _ eat it _ .”

 

She’s right, of course. If he says this out loud, if he calls it what it is, he can stop freaking out about it and start  _ dealing with it.  _ He doesn’t know how he’s going to do that, but the longer he keeps it bottled up, the worse it’s going to be.

 

So he squeezes his eyes shut, and he takes a deep breath, and before he can lose his nerve he babbles it all out in the fewest possible words as fast as he can.

 

The world doesn’t end. 

 

Curtis opens his eyes expecting to see Dr. Sung looking at him like he’s absolutely insane, but she doesn’t look the least bit rattled.

 

“That’s... that’s  _ weird, _ right?” he prompts. He can feel the strength ebbing out of his legs and he’s glad they’re barely halfway through the appointment. Hopefully he’ll have enough time to pull himself together and he won’t need to sit out in the waiting room to recover when they’re done. “That’s not normal.”

 

“Do you see any hats being eaten right now?” She’s still looking at those pipe cleaners. “No, Curtis. It’s not weird. It’s more common than you think. And in your case? It actually explains a lot.”

 

* * *

 

When his hour is up and he’s taken a few minutes to compose himself, Curtis still isn’t sure whether he feels better or worse. He ends up calling Veronica for a ride home, and he tells himself it’s because Takashi is dealing with final evals and doesn’t need to be yanked away from that.

 

He doesn’t plan on telling her why he’s so freaked out, and she’s normally good about not asking but... well, Adam is her friend too, and she has to know this has something to do with him leaving, right?

 

He has no idea how much she really knows, or how long she’s known it.

 

“Don’t worry,” she says while they’re waiting at a red light and Curtis is staring at her, horrified. “You’re not being  _ that  _ obvious about it. You know how you’re always telling me you’re a communications officer, you hear everything? Well, I’m an analyst.  _ I notice things. _ Sweetie, this is why I asked you if Adam being back was going to make stuff weird--”

 

“Okay!  _ Okay!  _ You were right! It made stuff weird!” Curtis throws up his hands. “Sorry. I’m not yelling at you, I just--how do I get over this?”

 

Veronica doesn’t say anything for a long time. The light turns green, and she steps on the gas. “This is going to sound crazy but hear me out,” she starts, and Curtis braces for whatever bomb she’s about to drop on him. “Maybe you don’t have to get over it.”

 

“What!?” Not what he was expecting. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but that sure wasn’t it. “Of course I have to get over it! I married Takashi, I can’t--”

 

“Says who? Sure you can, if they’re both on board with it.” She glances over at him and gives him that look, the lightly sugarcoated and blunt as hell one. “I mean, just my opinion but I pretty much entirely stopped giving a shit what  _ society  _ thought about my love life when I fell for an actual space alien.”

 

Curtis can’t believe any of what he’s hearing right now. “Okay,” he says, “if you could tell with me--what about  _ them?” _

 

“Insufficient data.” Veronica just shrugs. “I don’t spend anywhere near as much time around Shiro as I do with you these days, and Adam--I haven’t been around him much at all since he got back.” She sighs and flashes him a little look. “And if you’re thinking about asking me to try and get a read on them for you... don’t you think it’d be easier to just talk to them?”

 

_ “No!?” _ Curtis squeaks. Veronica just lets out a long, exasperated sigh and Curtis decides to change the subject a little. “Are you sure I’m not being that obvious about it?” 

 

“Trust me.” Veronica reaches over and pats him on the knee. “Nobody else knows. Not even Shiro. I’d bet money on it.”

 

“Dr. Sung knew.” Curtis shrinks into his seat a little. “I mean. She didn’t say it was obvious or anything but she asked all the right questions and--she must have had an idea.”

 

“Well, she’s your therapist.” Veronica catches another red light and glances over at him. “How long have you been spilling all your deepest darkest--”

 

Then she does a bit of a double-take.

 

“Um. I’m just spitballing here,” she says, “but were you playing with  _ those  _ while you were talking to her?”

 

“Playing with--” Right. The pipe cleaners. God, he’s still twiddling those things in his fingers, isn’t he? But why is Veronica asking him that? Come to think about it, why did Dr. Sung keep looking at them? 

 

Curtis follows her gaze down, looks at them himself, and--how did he not notice what his own hands were doing? 

 

“Oh,” he says. Three of them, blue and purple and orange, carefully twined together in a smooth braid.  _ “Oh.” _

 

* * *

 

Two quintants out, they come up on the edge of the asteroid belt. Adam brings the ship to a full stop and stares out at it for a while.

 

_ I can do this,  _ he tells himself. Does he believe it? He’s not sure but either way, he’s not going to endanger his crew just to prove a point to himself. “Switch seats with me,” he says to Keith. 

 

“Okay.” Keith gets up and they shuffle from pilot to co-pilot seat and vice-versa. “It’s okay. You want to try on the way back, or--”

 

“No. I want to try  _ now _ but I don’t want to be stupid about it. Let me drive for now and if I lose it--” Adam buckles himself into the co-pilot seat. “Lock me out and take over.”

 

“‘Kay.” Keith doesn’t tell him it’ll be okay, doesn’t offer any words of encouragement, and that’s good. That would just make Adam even more nervous, and he knows it. He just buckles in and sets their course and sends it to the HUD; almost as an afterthought he brings the weapons controls online. “You want me to try and clear you a path?”

 

It’s tempting, but... “No.” He needs to at least try this the hard way. He’s done it before, dammit. If he can do it again... “Not unless you have to.”

 

“‘Kay,” Keith says again, one hand resting lightly on the stick, the other on the console within reach of the lockout panel. “Whenever you’re ready.”

 

He’ll never be ready. Not really. But Adam takes hold of the stick and the throttle and urges the ship forward into the asteroid belt anyway.

 

It’s not bad at first. The asteroids on the edge of the belt are the smaller ones, and the Blades’ ship is a lot smaller and a hell of a lot more agile than the rebel freighter was, and Adam is a lot more familiar with its controls than he was with the freighter’s. He slips between the asteroids easily, glancing to his left every few seconds. He’s not going to repeat the mistakes he made in the simulator. Not when he’s out here for real, not with his crew depending on him to get them through this in one piece, not with the closest thing to a son he’s ever going to have sitting here next to him. 

 

He can feel Keith’s eyes on him once in a while, and when he checks his left he sees Keith’s hand still casually resting on the pilot’s stick. He’s not steering, not yet, but he’s ready to. It feels like a safety net. Just knowing that Keith can take over if he has to takes a lot of the load off Adam’s mind.

 

The belt is getting denser the farther in they go, just like Adam remembers it, and the asteroids are getting bigger. He’s scared. Of course he’s scared. But he’s still okay. He focuses on their course, remembers to check his left, bobs and weaves the ship over and under and around. 

 

He’s doing fine. But they haven’t hit the worst part of the belt yet, have they? 

 

Adam almost spots the first ship-killer too late, but he ducks under it just as Keith opens his mouth to say something about it, just as his finger starts to tighten on the trigger to blast it out of the way. It doesn’t touch them. Neither does the second, or the third, or the fourth, and by then Adam realizes none of them will as long as he just keeps doing what he’s doing. 

 

This time, he really  _ is  _ in the zone.

 

His heart is hammering in his ears and there’s cold sweat running down the back of his neck. But that cold slimy thing stirring in his chest seems weirdly okay with the idea of just rescheduling his breakdown for a later, safer time. For now, as long as he stays loose, stays focused, and remembers to check that left side, he’ll get through this. 

 

And then he checks his left again and while he does, he notices a little smile on Keith’s face. He’s not worried. He’s not even touching the pilot stick now. Adam is doing this all on his own, and Keith trusts him to.

 

Maybe he won’t reschedule that breakdown for later after all. Maybe he’ll just cancel the fucking thing altogether. How about that?

 

He weaves past another ship-killer, and that’s the last one he sees. They’re past the halfway point. They’re through the worst of it. It’s going to get easier from here. Not  _ easy,  _ no, of course not--there are still plenty of rocks out here big enough to ruin their day. But the hardest part is over, and he knows he’s going to be okay.

 

It feels like forever, and even though the course display assures him he’s going the right way Adam starts to wonder if this is all too good to be true, if he’s gotten turned around in here, if he’s heading back into the bad part of the belt. But then he skates past a handful of tiny asteroids and that’s it. There’s nothing in front of him but clear space and stars.

 

“We’re out,” Keith says mildly, and Adam lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. “Hey, you did it.”

 

“I... I did.” Adam eases the ship to a full stop again. That cold slimy thing is still there, still wriggling a little, but starting to retreat. “I did it. Holy  _ shit.  _ I did it!” He bursts out laughing and if there’s a bit of a hysterical edge to it, Keith sure isn’t calling it out. Adam punches the air with both fists and lets out the kind of whoop he’s given drunk guys at outdoor concerts the hairy eyeball for, and he doesn’t care how ridiculous he looks. He did it.  _ He did it!  _ He’s still got it! He flew through an asteroid belt-- _ the  _ asteroid belt--and he didn’t let the panic get the best of him, and he fucking  _ did it! _ Shit, if he can do this, he can do  _ anything! _

 

_ Almost anything, _ that sour little voice in the back of Adam’s head reminds him.  _ Except be honest with Takashi and Curtis. _

 

Keith claps him on the shoulder. “You okay?” he asks, and Adam has to think about that for a minute.

 

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m... I’m good, I just need to--” He unbuckles his harness with shaking fingers. “Y’know. Get up for a minute and walk the, uh, adrenaline off? And I think maybe, uh...” Okay, maybe he didn’t quite cancel  _ all  _ of that breakdown. “Yeah, I’m definitely gonna throw up.”

 

Keith just laughs at that. “Okay. Go do what you need to do, I’ll take us the rest of the--oh shit! _ I thought you were kidding!” _

 

* * *

 

A little vacation. That’s what they need. 

 

Things have been weird in a way Shiro can’t quite seem to find the words for ever since Adam left, and they figure since finals are over and the  _ Atlas  _ isn’t going anywhere for a while it’s a good time to go visit Curtis’ family. And there’s some kind of Altean art exhibit thing opening at the fine arts museum that week and Coran is supposed to be there, so they can catch up with him too.

 

Neither one of them felt up to making the drive to Houston, and they don’t want to spend most of their precious little time off on the road anyway. So they’re flying. And after everything that’s happened in their lives, it’s nice to be able to sit back and relax and let other people do the flying. Curtis is staring out the window, as he does when they fly, and Shiro is reading one of his model magazines. 

 

They’ve just started passing out pretzels and drinks when Shiro’s phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s a text from Keith:  _ you gotta see this! _

 

More flight data, but this... this is no routine patrol route, no training course. This is  _ big. _

 

They went through the Seron-47D Belt. Not a scratch. The co-pilot did the flying. Vitals a little elevated but otherwise normal. And that’s not just any asteroid belt, either. It’s the same one Adam would have taken that rebel ship through...

 

The light bulb over Shiro’s head comes on just before Keith sends a follow-up text:  _ He did it. :) _

 

Shiro gives Curtis a little nudge and hands him the phone, and Curtis spends a few moments blinking at it. “Oh, wow! He really--”

 

“Yeah.” Shiro lets out a soft little laugh. “He really did.”

 

“I guess... I guess he’s doing okay.”

 

“Guess so.”

 

Neither of them says anything for a while. Usually silence between them is comforting, but this time there’s something weird hanging in the air. 

 

“I miss him,” Curtis says.

 

“Me too.”

 

Shiro thinks that should dispel... whatever it is they’re not saying, but it doesn’t. It just sort of traces around the edge of whatever it is. 

 

He adds that flight data to the folder he’s collecting all this stuff in, and--wait. If they crossed the Seron-47D Belt...

 

He sends Keith a text:  _ Are you going to be anywhere near his colony?  _

 

_ That’s actually where we’re headed,  _ Keith replies.  _ Way ahead of you. I’ll get whatever I can. _

 

Shiro tries not to get his hopes up about what Keith might be able to pull from the wreck. If nothing else, he can get some statements from the other survivors, and that won’t hurt, but if he can get hold of that flight data...

 

All he can do is hope for the best.

 

* * *

 

When Keith sets the ship down in that field outside town square, Adam sees that there have already been a few major changes in the short time he’s been away.

 

Electric lights, for one. The braziers they used to light the square with at night have been replaced by bright white street lamps. The pub is decked out with a string of twinkly colored lights around the door. The houses and huts and yurts are all lit up bright as day on the inside.

 

There are a couple of new buildings, too. There’s one by the field with small cargo containers stacked up next to it. There’s another with what looks like a transmitter array on the roof--that must be the new comm center.

 

And there’s one more new thing--a guy Adam doesn’t recognize, barrelling towards the ship and the crew at a full-on sprint. Huge. Fucking  _ massive.  _ At least seven feet tall and built like a brick shithouse. Three angry eyes. Three flailing arms. Three fingers on each hand, curled into menacing-looking fists. And a very large mouth with many,  _ many  _ teeth. Strangely, he’s dressed in clothes similar to the ones everyone else here wears and... 

 

...and a  _ flower crown!? _

 

_ “YOU!”  _ he bellows, advancing on Adam and the crew with terrifying speed for his ponderous bulk. “GALRA SCUM! YOU DARE TRESPASS IN THE DOMAIN OF REL OF MELKOROS?”

 

“Oh frap!” Ezor wheezes. “It’s a Melkorian!”

 

“Is that bad?” Adam asks, having no idea what the hell a Melkorian is.

 

“If he’s charging at us like that? Probably.” Acxa draws her blade and drops back into a ready stance. Adam follows her lead and activates his staff. Kosmo just sits down and watches this guy come at them like it’s no big deal. Great. “Does anyone have eyes on the other two?”

 

Adam opens his mouth to ask  _ what  _ “other two” but a familiar voice stops him cold.

 

“Hey, Rel!” Oh thank fucking God, that’s Durva. “Hang on, your most, uh, benevolent majest--Rel! They’re our friends! _Stop!”_

 

The second Durva says  _ stop,  _ the Melkorian-- _ Rel _ \--stops dead in his tracks. He turns to face Durva and for a moment Adam is sure there’s about to be carnage. But Durva just walks up and slaps him on the back like they’re buddies.

 

“DURVA OF HAVEN,” Rel thunders, “WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS? YOU KNOW THESE INTERLOPERS?”

 

Durva waves a hand towards Adam and the crew. Acxa quickly sheathes her blade before Rel’s eyes land on her. Adam doesn’t even try to deactivate his staff, he just leans on it like a walking stick as casually as he can. “Adam, this is the new guy Cherrin was telling you about. Meet His Most Imperial Overlordliness or... whatever, Rel of Melkoros.”

 

Rel doesn’t seem to be offended by the flippant tone of the honorifics, strangely enough. “ADAM?” He turns to Durva and gives them a weird look. “ADAM OF EARTH? THE ONE WHO LANDED YOUR VESSEL HERE?”

 

“The same,” Durva says.

 

Rel steps  _ right  _ up into Adam’s personal space and looks him up and down. It’s unnerving and really, really awkward. Should he make eye contact? Will that piss Rel off? Will  _ not  _ making eye contact piss him off? “What’s he doing?” he whispers to Durva, and Durva does that shrug-like thing they do.

 

“Checking you out, I guess? Relax. He’s harmless.”

 

_ “Where are the other two,”  _ Zethrid whispers to Keith, and Keith shakes his head.

 

“ADAM OF EARTH.” Rel does a weirdly dignified little head-bob thing. “MY SUBJECTS SPEAK HIGHLY OF YOU. I WILL ALLOW YOU AND YOUR CREW TO LIVE THIS DAY.”

 

“He does that,” Durva says, with a lot more amusement in their voice than Adam likes. “Just play along.”

 

“Uh.” Adam clears his throat, hoping maybe that will convince Rel to back up. “Thanks, uh... Your Majesty?” He tries to fight back the urge to laugh at how  _ ridiculous  _ this is because he gets the impression that were he so inclined, Rel could pound him into the ground like a tent peg. Durva just shakes their head and snickers.

 

“It’s okay if you can’t keep a straight face. None of us can for long. He doesn’t mind.”

 

“Ask him where the other two are,” Ezor whispers through her teeth. Adam glances at her over his shoulder and quickly shakes his head because he has a feeling that asking this big scary guy with the overlord complex any intrusive personal questions would be a spectacularly dangerous idea right now. 

 

Rel looks Adam up and down a little longer, then looks over Keith and the rest of the crew, and head-bobs again. “YOU MAY BE EXCUSED FROM MY PRESENCE,” he booms, oh so regally. “DISPERSE, SUBJECTS!” he shouts at the gathering crowd. “THERE IS NOTHING TO SEE HERE. I HAVE THE SITUATION UNDER CONTROL. TEND TO YOUR BUSINESS.”  And with that, he shambles back off to wherever he came from. The crowd does not disperse. It parts to let him through, but nobody seems even the least bit intimidated. Most of them are smiling. A few are laughing, but not unkindly. A few even pat Rel on the back and thank him for his tireless defense of the colony or some shit.

 

For the second time that quintant, Adam lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding. “Durva?” he asks,  _ “what the fuck just happened?” _

 

Durva just busts out laughing and slaps Adam on the back. “C’mon. Let’s hit the pub, I’ll catch you up.”

 

* * *

 

The pub is as warm and friendly as Adam remembers it--even more so now that it’s well-lit and decked out with a few bits of modern technology. It’s got a shiny new jukebox that’s hacked much like the vending machines on the rebel ship were, to operate free of charge. Adam doesn’t recognize any of the songs it plays, but it really adds a lot to the atmosphere. He peers back through the kitchen door when it opens, and he sees a few shiny new appliances--a big induction stove, a dishwasher, a fridge, even something that looks like a pizza oven.

 

It’s also clean. Really clean. The wood floor is glossy and bright, the tables are immaculate, even the restroom--they have  _ indoor restrooms  _ now, holy shit--is the cleanest he’s ever seen in a bar.

 

“Okay, here’s the deal,” Durva tells them over mugs of tea and a platter of steamed mudshrimp and assorted fried things. “The fishing crew saw something land out on the other side of the lake the other day, looked like some kind of escape pod. So we got some roadbeasts saddled up and went to check it out. Opened it up, and there was Rel.”

 

“Just Rel?” Acxa asks. “By himself?” and Durva nods and gestures at her with a fried thing.

 

“See, you know what’s up. Yeah. By himself. Crazy, right?”

 

“Okay.” Adam holds up a hand. “Time out. Can someone please explain to me why it’s a big deal that he was by himself? Why were you all freaking out about ‘the other two?’”

 

Zethrid and Ezor exchange a look. “All right,” Zethrid says. “See... back in the day, the Melkorians were bad news. Really bad.”

 

“Almost as bad as Zarkon,” Ezor adds, and Zethrid nods.

 

“Huh.” Keith frowns. “How come we’ve never run into any until now?”

 

“Like Ezor said.” Zethrid raises an eyebrow and pops a fried thing into her mouth. “They were  _ almost  _ as bad as Zarkon.”

 

Adam doesn’t need to ask what she means by that. 

 

Acxa shakes her head. “I didn’t think there were any left.”

 

“Yeah, there’s a few colonies out there, plus some free-floaters. They kinda keep to themselves these days,” Zethrid says. “I mean, you sure don’t want to be on a Melkorian triad’s bad side, but they don’t go looking for trouble.”

 

Adam frowns.  _ Triad.  _ There it is again. “So... what’s with the whole ‘other two’ thing?”

 

Durva shrugs. “Melkorians have this ... _ thing  _ about the number three. Like it’s sacred to them or something. They live in groups of three. They do everything with their triad. Yes,” they sigh, knowing exactly what  _ someone  _ at that table is bound to ask, “that too. You hardly see Melkorians at all these days, but finding one alone? Nah. Doesn’t happen. ...which is how I knew Rel was full of it when he popped out of that pod all ‘I AM REL OF MELKOROS, I WILL CRUSH YOUR PUNY WORLD BENEATH MY WEAKEST FINGER’ or whatever the quiznak he was hollering about.”

 

_ Well, _ Adam thinks,  _ that’s a hell of a way to make a first impression. _ “So... what’d you do?”

 

Durva sighs and hangs their head. “Listen. I know this was the meanest thing I coulda said to him but... I was tired and I wasn’t in the mood to take any frap from this guy so I just kind of went ‘oh yeah, you and what triad...’”

 

“Oh  _ noooo,”  _ Ezor groans. 

 

Adam raises an eyebrow. “And... then what’d he do?”

 

“He said, quote, ‘OH GO BLOW IT OUT YOUR WASTE PORTAL,’ end quote.” Durva throws up their hands. “And  _ then _ he just kinda threw himself on the ground and cried like a baby for three solid vargas. Yeah. I know. I said I was sorry, okay? ...so anyway, we brought him back here and that’s when he started the whole ‘overlord’ schtick and that’s kinda why we go along with it. Look. He’s not stupid. He knows what his situation is. But he’s got this weird honor thing that won’t let him just... eh, spend the night, walk around tomorrow, you’ll see what I mean. We just figured... he’s harmless, and it’s not hurting anyone to give him a little flower crown and call him ‘your majesty,’ why not play along for now?”

 

“So.” Acxa picks at the breading on a fried thing to see what’s under it, approves of whatever she sees, and dips it in sauce. “That brings us back to the question of... where are the other two?”

 

“That’s where you come in. They can’t be far away, but we got no way to look for them. They’re not dead. At least, we don’t think they are. Every time anyone tries to ask about them he’s all ‘I WILL CONQUER THIS UNIVERSE ALONE, I NEED NO TRIAD’ and stuff, but... we can tell.” Durva shakes their head. “Either they kicked him out, or he left them. Either way, he won’t talk about it. I figure if you can get ‘em all back together, maybe they can work it out.”

 

Adam clears his throat and busies himself with carefully peeling a mudshrimp and does  _ not  _ think about just how close to home this conversation is hitting.

 

* * *

 

The colony has sprouted an inn. It’s small, just two rooms with single beds and two with doubles, but at least this time there are no arguments about who gets to put the ladies up for the night.

 

Adam’s house is still there and nobody else has moved into it yet, so that’s where Adam and Keith and Kosmo go. But as they’re heading down the stone path that leads to it, and as Adam is fighting off the weirdest sense of  _ deja vu _ , he hears something strange off in the darkness. It’s soft. Almost a whisper, carried on the breeze.

 

_ “Xashurel...” _

 

Adam puts a hand on Keith’s arm. “Did you hear that?”

 

Keith frowns and looks around. “Hear wh--”

 

_ “Xashurel...” _

 

Kosmo perks up and stares into the darkness, at one of the big stargazing rocks out in the field. Something--or someone--is out there. All Adam can make out is a big shadow, but--wait, his Blade mask has night vision, right? He activates it, gives his eye a moment to adjust, and sees someone out there sitting on that big flat rock, staring up into the stars. Someone built like a brick shithouse, wearing a flower crown.

 

“It’s Rel,” Adam says. “What’s he doing?”

 

_ “Xashurel...” _

 

He sounds sad. Heartbroken, even.

 

“‘Xashurel?’” Keith activates his own mask and watches for a while. “Huh. Wonder what that means?”

 

Suddenly, Adam feels very, very uncomfortable. Like they’re intruding on something private. Something secret. Adam doesn’t know what Rel is doing, other than sitting on a rock and looking at the sky and saying a word, but he knows he doesn’t need to see any more of it.

 

“Come on,” Adam whispers. “Let’s leave him be.”

 

* * *

 

There’s almost nothing left in terms of ancient Altean art and artifacts. Some of Lotor’s original colonists took a few books and relics and other small items with them if they could, but most of what wasn’t destroyed with Altea was on the Castle and... well, they couldn’t take it all with them. Still, there’s plenty being produced now, some of it in the ancient styles, some of it with a more modern twist. 

 

Shiro has never really been into paintings and stuff, but seeing the fruits of this kind of skill up close and personal is a humbling experience. On top of that, Altean alchemy produces paints Earth artists only dream about. There are a few paintings with tiny lights and torches and things like that in them, and at first glance Shiro thinks they’ve actually got little LED-like things stuck in the canvas, but upon closer inspection he sees that there’s nothing but paint and the paint itself is glowing in those spots. He wouldn’t mind getting hold of some of that for his models.

 

There are some crystal sculptures too, lit from within by the crystal’s own energy. One of them changes its shape, cycling through a series of stylized Altean animals as they watch. There’s some jewelry on display, and some textile art (that’s the fancy artsy term for “clothes and quilts,” right?) and even a ceremonial suit of armor that’s similar in design to Paladin armor.

 

And then they see one of Coran’s own paintings and... oh boy. 

 

It’s... interesting? Very, uh... abstract? Impressionist? Whatever the fancy artsy term is for “possibly fingerpainted?” Curtis coughs quietly and compliments Coran’s use of color. Because Coran used a  _ lot  _ of color. Well, if some color is good  _ all  _ the color must be fantastic, right? Actually, Shiro isn’t sure that  _ is  _ right but he doesn’t know enough about art to dispute it, and anyway it seems to make Coran happy so it’s all good.

 

But there’s this one painting that grabs Shiro’s attention. He’s not sure what exactly it’s depicting. At first glance he took it for a wedding, but it can’t be. There are three Alteans--two men and a woman--standing in a triangle on a stage-like platform, each of them holding the hands of the other two. There’s a fourth Altean in fancy robes and an ornate headdress in the middle, hands raised as if dispensing a blessing.

 

Too many people for a wedding but... other than that, it sure as hell looks like one.

 

Shiro walks away from it, goes over to sample some of the fancy Altean-inspired small plate stuff they’re handing out, warns Curtis to steer clear of the nunvill. Curtis’ curiosity gets the better of him, though. He picks up a plastic champagne flute of it, takes a sip, and makes the most horrified face as he politely chokes it down and discreetly drops the rest, flute and all, into the nearest trash can. The plasticky clatter hints that Curtis is not the first guest to regret sampling the nunvill tonight.

 

“How was it?” Shiro asks him gently, knowing  _ exactly  _ how it was.

 

“I need to go scrub my tongue with a wire brush,” Curtis replies. “‘Scuse me.” He heads off to the nearest men’s room so he can rinse his mouth out in private, and Shiro laughs and pats him on the back.

 

And then he finds himself in front of that painting again. The clothing, the flowers, the holding of hands, the loving gazes--it sure  _ looks _ like a wedding, but--

 

“This one’s magnificent, isn’t it?” 

 

Shiro jumps a little at the sound of Coran’s voice next to him, and he lets out a little sheepish laugh. “Yeah, it... it’s something.”

 

“It’s one of Tavo’s best works, I’d say. Bit of a modern spin on the old tri-bonding theme. See, look here, the robes are mostly traditional but the officiant’s headdress is--”

 

Wait. The old  _ what?  _

 

“What’s a... tri-bonding?” Shiro asks, and Coran looks at him like he’s grown another head.

 

“Why, it’s a ceremony to join three people in the bonds of tri-matrimony, of course.”

 

Is that what it sounds like? It can’t be what it sounds like. But what else could it be? “That’s something Alteans do?”

 

“Of course it is. Other cultures as well, in fact I was under the impression that humans sometimes made that sort of arrangement?”

 

“Well--” Oh shit, it _is_ what it sounds like. “Yeah, I guess we do--I mean, _some humans_ do! it’s just--we-- _they_ haven’t quite gotten to the point of, uh--” Shiro gestures at the painting. “Y’know. Making it official like that.” His ears feel hot. Is he blushing? _Why the hell is he blushing!?_

 

“Oh. How, er...” Coran clears his throat.  _ “Quaint. _ Well, multi-mates have always been quite common in Altean society. Mostly tri-mates. Sometimes you’ll see quad-mates, even quint-mates. Rarely more than that though. With that many people involved, some of whom might not necessarily be bound to all of the others, things can start getting a bit, ah... complicated.” 

 

“R-right.” So... polyamory is a thing on Altea. Well, it’s also a thing on Earth, maybe not as common a thing but... is it warm in here? Shiro feels a sudden need to loosen his collar, maybe step outside. Never mind that he’s not wearing a tie and he’s already got his top button undone and it’s early summer in Houston and the inside is almost certainly cooler and less humid than the outside.

 

“See, there’s the officiant in the center, and the tri-mates join hands around her-- this would be a full tri-bond, you see, as each of the tri-mates is holding the hands of the other two--”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro sees Curtis come out of the restroom, sees him head over to talk to Romelle for a while, and for reasons he’s not sure he understands or wants to, feels a deep sense of relief that he’s found someone else to chat with while Coran is explaining this.

 

“--as opposed to a partial tri-bond, where one of the tri-mates is bound to two others who aren’t themselves bound together, the sort I had with--”

 

Shiro hears a noise in his head like a car screeching to a sudden stop and he silently begs Coran not to finish that sentence but it’s too late. 

 

Oh God. Shiro did  _ not  _ need this information. Well, he didn’t need any of the information Coran is standing here sharing but this, this right here, this particular piece of information, he  _ really  _ didn’t need this one and he’s seriously considering a run to the nunvill table to scrub it from his memory. It’s not that he has a problem with--with  _ tri-matrimony,  _ he doesn’t have a problem with the concept of polyamory in general (as long as he thinks of it as something other people do, anyway), but this new piece of information about Coran’s love life is--God, Shiro hasn’t felt this kind of deep visceral  _ nope  _ since he learned how babies were made and realized his parents must have done  _ that _ at least once.

 

But that  _ would  _ explain a whole lot about Coran, wouldn’t it? Like that portrait of him and Alfor over there, and... oh, shit. Did Allura know about this? She must have known about this... right? But if she did, why didn’t she ever mention it? Well... if this is such a common thing in the society she was raised in, she probably didn’t feel like she  _ needed  _ to mention it. Her father being married to Coran would have been as much a given as her father being married to her mother.

 

If there’s a word for it, if it’s a subject commonly depicted in their art, if they have clergy officiating the tri-bonding ceremonies, _if their heads of state are doing it,_ clearly it just isn’t a big deal to them.

 

It  _ is  _ a big deal on Earth, though.

 

Not as big as it used to be, sure, but big enough for a lot of people to still not be on board with it. Big enough that Shiro knows the gears that painting and this conversation have set turning in his head shouldn’t be turning.

 

But he stares at that painting, and his imagination whips up a series of images. A third toothbrush in the holder in their bathroom. A third mug next to the coffee maker. And so on. All of them perfectly innocent on the surface, but the longer he stands there thinking about an orange towel hanging over the shower curtain rod and a package of hair ties in the bathroom drawer the more he feels--

 

It’s hard to describe what he feels. 

 

He’ll try, weeks later. The closest he can come to it is a weird combination of that first sign of an oncoming panic attack, that flush of cold that sweeps through his chest and his stomach, and the same kind of ache he feels when he’s just seen Curtis off and he first comes home to that empty house. And underneath that, the distinct sensation of that prickly knot in his stomach coming unraveled all at once, like a tightly wound ball of elastic thread coming loose, and then he looks at that damn painting again and his brain sort of faceswaps those three random Alteans with himself and Curtis and Adam--

 

He barely hears his own voice as he excuses himself and makes his way to the men’s room as casually as he can and hopes like hell Curtis doesn’t see him. 

 

* * *

 

When Shiro comes out of the restroom, he sees Curtis standing in front of that painting talking to Coran.

 

Knowing Coran, he’s already mentioned their conversation earlier.

 

_ Shit. _

 

* * *

Normally, when Curtis is driving on the freeway, Takashi spends most of the trip white-knuckling the oh-shit handle and muttering reminders to himself that he has done much scarier things in the air.

 

But tonight, it doesn’t seem to bother him at all. He just sits there in the passenger seat of their rental car, staring out the window.

 

Maybe it’s just because, relative to everyone else on the freeway with them, Curtis is practically a Sunday driver. He’s staying in his lane. He’s not trying to eat a cheeseburger or shave while he’s driving. He knows what a turn signal is and has at least a basic understanding of the concept of  _ right of way.  _

 

But then someone veers right in front of their car and taps the brakes just long enough to make Curtis tap  _ his _ and swerve a little. 

 

“Son of a--” Curtis mashes the horn and with a lame little _thanks for letting me in_ wave, the offending driver straightens up and settles into the lane like a somewhat normal person. Curtis drops back in behind them, easing up on the gas to put at least a little bit of a buffer between them in case they do it again. “Ah, sorry--”

 

“Huh? Oh.” Takashi shakes his head. “It’s okay.”

 

Did... did he even notice that they almost rear-ended someone? It’s like he’s lost in thought, like he’s not even paying attention to what’s going on around him, like he’s--

 

Oh no.

 

Curtis thinks about how he went over to shoot the breeze with Coran, and they got to talking about that painting and the whole “tri-matrimony” thing, and Coran just ever so casually mentioned that Takashi seemed very interested in the painting and its subject, but while Coran was explaining it he turned white as a ghost and then ran off to the restroom.

 

The idiot in front of him takes an exit, so Curtis can afford to sneak another quick glance at Takashi. He’s still staring out the window.

 

_ Veronica was wrong,  _ Curtis thinks, and he feels his heart sink a little.  _ He  _ does  _ know. _

 

* * *

 

For a little while, it’s easy to forget what just happened.

 

In a house full of parents and siblings and cousins-in-law, where someone is always yelling at a sportsball game and someone is always cooking or preparing something to be cooked later and someone is always accidentally letting the big dog in and the little dog out, where there’s never really a lull in the conversation or a moment of silence, it’s easy for Shiro to put what happened at the museum out of his head for a little while.

 

It’s easy until late that night, when they’re lying there in that double bed in Curtis’ old room and the house is dark and quiet. Curtis’ arm is snug around Shiro’s waist just as it always is, and his breath is slow and soft and warm on the back of Shiro’s neck just as it always is. 

 

They were standing there in front of that painting when he came out of the restroom. Curtis and Coran, standing in front of that damn painting, talking.

 

Maybe Coran didn’t mention anything incriminating. Not that there was much to mention that  _ was  _ all that incriminating, but if Coran had said enough for Curtis to put the pieces together, would they still be lying here like this? Would Curtis still be holding him like this?

 

Maybe Curtis is just waiting until they get home to confront him. And somehow, that’s even worse.

 

Slowly, carefully, Shiro tries to wriggle over onto his other side without waking Curtis up. Curtis makes a sleepy little  _ mm?  _ noise and loosens his grip to let Shiro turn over, and that’s it. So Shiro wraps his arm around Curtis’ waist and tucks his head under Curtis’ chin, focuses on the faint scent of bayberries and evergreens to ground himself.

  
Curtis makes another of those little sleepy questioning noises and drapes his arm over Shiro’s shoulders again, snuggling him close.

 

_ It’s okay,  _ Shiro tells himself.  _ Coran didn’t say anything weird, he doesn’t know, it’s okay. _

 

* * *

 

Adam wakes up with the sun, just as he did most mornings here, and for a moment he’s confused at how quiet it is. Then he remembers that Ollyx took the goats, and he doesn’t need to feed or milk them. 

 

He goes outside anyway, picks a leaf of not-quite-sage, and sets it smoldering. It doesn’t smell right anymore, and now he barely remembers the revisions he made to his prayer to fit it into this world. Trying doesn’t leave him feeling worse, not exactly, but it’s just...  _ off, _ somehow.

 

There aren’t really any chores he needs to do, seeing as how he doesn’t live here anymore. But he does gather up some of his pots and pans and utensils and stack them up on the counter, to be carted back to the ship later and from there taken back to Keith’s apartment so he’ll at least have a decent set of cookware. Maybe if they catch a market day he’ll stock up on groceries to take back, too.

 

As Adam and Keith head for the inn, they notice Rel coming up the path from the opposite direction. He doesn’t acknowledge them. He just goes up to the pub and pounds on the door three times. Not nearly as hard as someone of his size could, though. He’s beating on the door in a way that’s meant to sound intimidating, but in a weird playful way.

 

“MELLARI OF HAVEN!” Rel shouts through the door. “I HAVE COME TO INSPECT THE PREMISES!” He pounds the door three more times.

 

Keith puts a hand on his blade and Adam’s first impulse is to run to the pub and protect Mellari, but then he remembers what Durva said the night before:  _ walk around tomorrow, you’ll see what I mean.  _

 

So instead, he takes hold of Keith’s arm again. “Let’s see what happens.”

 

The pub door opens. Mellari does not look the least bit intimidated by the yelling and door-pounding. She steps out of the way and curtsies deeply, with a grand flourish. “As you wish, O Great And Powerful Rel. Let me know when you’re ready for your tribute.” She gives Adam a wink and a grin and as Rel heads into the pub, she beckons him closer.

 

Adam looks, and is sure he can’t possibly be seeing this. 

 

Apparently, Rel’s definition of “inspecting the premises” is... grabbing a mop and a bucket and some rags and cleaning the place himself. And he’s doing a great job of it--Adam remembers how spotless the place was last night. 

 

“THIS PLACE IS FILTHY,” Rel gripes as he mops. “I SHALL HAVE TO REPRIMAND THE CLEANING STAFF AGAIN.”

 

“Oh, Rel. Don’t be too hard on them. They’re doing their best.” Mellari rolls her eyes. “He’s kidding,” she whispers to Adam and Keith.  _ “He’s  _ the cleaning staff. It’s our little joke.”

 

“And this ‘tribute’ is...?” Keith prompts.

 

“He cleans, I feed him.” Mellari laughs softly. “I kind of use him as a taste tester for the new recipes sometimes.”

 

Adam’s stomach growls at the mention of food. Right. Breakfast.

 

They find the rest of their crew at the inn, sitting at a table downstairs. Zethrid and Ezor look well-rested. Acxa... doesn’t.

 

“You okay?” Keith asks her quietly as they sit, and she shoots him the most pained look Adam has ever seen.

 

“These walls,” she says softly, through her teeth, “are  _ thinner than they think.” _

 

Keith coughs softly into his fist, and Adam just grimaces a little. Whether she’s talking about the snoring or ...other noises, that’s all he needs to hear about  _ that.  _

 

When they come out of the inn, Zethrid and Ezor decide to go check out the pod Rel crash-landed in, and Acxa goes with Adam and Keith to ask around in town. She stops to talk to Mellari outside the pub--it’s still early, she won’t open until lunchtime, so they’ve got some time to catch up, exchange whatever girl talk they--

 

_ “MELLARI OF HAVEN!” _

 

Rel sounds  _ pissed.  _ But Mellari just rolls her eyes and sighs. “Yes, Rel?” she calls through the open door, and Rel comes storming out, flower crown slightly askew, outer arms crossed under the middle one, and the middle one folded up over them. Adam is not sure he ever wants to see that particular configuration of limbs again.

 

“THE TRIBUTE IS  _ UNACCEPTABLE!”  _ Rel thunders.

 

Acxa’s hand goes to her blade, but Mellari does not appear to be the least bit rattled by this. “Oh, you know what, I did try something a little different with the batter on the fish today. Did you not like it? I’ll make you some the old way if you--”

 

“IT IS  _ IN EXCESS OF THE AGREED AMOUNT!” _ Maybe it’s just a trick of light and shadow but Adam swears he sees Rel’s lower lip quiver. “YOU... YOU HAVE GIVEN ME AN EXTRA SWEET ROLL.”

 

“Oh,  _ that! _ I forgot to mention...” Mellari pats Rel on the shoulder. “After it rained the other day the roof sprung a little leak in the kitchen. I was hoping a little extra dessert would convince you to help me patch it up?”

 

Rel stares at her for a long, uncomfortable moment. “VERY WELL.” After a pause, he adds: “THE FISH IS SATISFACTORY. PROCEED WITH THE CHANGE OF RECIPE.” And with that, he heads back inside.

 

Adam just stares at the door. “What in the  _ hell?”  _ he mumbles, more to himself than anything. Acxa just shakes her head, eyes wide.

 

“You’re really not afraid of him?” she asks Mellari. “Not even a little?”

 

“Of course not.” Mellari gestures towards the spotless interior of the pub. “Sure, he’s big and he looks scary and yeah, we’ve all heard the horror stories about how Melkorians were back in the olden days but... Rel’s nice.” She shrugs. “You should see him with the kids.”

 

A little later on, they pass by Ixa and Edi’s house. Ixa is out in the yard trying to keep Aby away from that contraption that turns wood ashes and water into lye and not having a lot of luck. She’s clearly trying to work, but lye is dangerous stuff and she can’t do what she needs to do with an energetic toddler underfoot. Edi usually helps her with that, but he doesn’t seem to be home right now. Weird. Well, Adam figures he can keep the kid busy until Edi gets back. “Hey, Aby!” he calls, and he crouches down with his arms out for a hug. “C’mere!” 

 

Aby looks up, breaks out into a big wide chubby-cheeked baby grin, and comes running at Adam as fast as her little legs will carry her... and then she blows right past him, ducks right under his outstretched arm with a cursory “hi, Unka Adam,” and--

 

And throws her arms around Rel’s knees, leaving Adam sputtering at the indignity of it all.  _ This _ guy again!?

 

“Ooh,” Keith says. “Shot down by a toddler. That’s gotta hurt.”

 

“ABY OF HAVEN.” Rel gently detaches Aby from his legs and crouches down as close to her eye level as he can. Which isn’t very close, he is  _ very  _ large, but the intent is clear. “YOUR... ‘UNKA ADAM’ WISHES TO GREET YOU.”

 

“Aw,” Aby sighs. Rel turns her around and gives her a little nudge, and Adam gets his hug.

 

“IXA OF HAVEN,” Rel booms. “WHY IS EDI OF HAVEN NOT ASSISTING YOU?”

 

“Oh--” Ixa waves a hand at a construction site farther down the path. “He’s helping Durva with the new clinic today. I can do this by myself, really, but just--not with Aby around.”

 

Rel surveys the situation a bit longer.

 

“SURRENDER THE CHILD TO ME,” he rumbles, low and threatening.

 

“What!?  _ No!” _ Adam hugs Aby a little tighter out of pure protective instinct. Oh, shit. Oh,  _ shit.  _ Here it is.  _ He’s been playing them, _ Adam thinks crazily,  _ all this time he’s been playing them and now he’s showing his true colors and he--he’s going to eat the kids, he’s going to eat sweet little Aby! _

 

But the look on Ixa’s face turns to... relief!? “Oh, Rel. I’d appreciate that,” she sighs. Yes, that’s definitely relief. “You don’t mind, though? Are you sure?”

 

“I INSIST. WILL THREE VARGAS BE SUFFICIENT TIME TO COMPLETE YOUR WORK?”

 

“Ixa,” Adam stammers, “I can take her for a little while, it’s not a problem--”

 

“Yur squishin me, Unka Adam.”

 

“That would be  _ wonderful,  _ Rel,” Ixa replies. Then she turns to Adam. “Maybe later if you’re free? I know you’re here working. It’s okay. She’ll be fine with Rel.”

 

Adam glances up at Keith hoping for backup. Keith just shrugs. Okay. If Aby says it’s okay, he’ll go with it, but unless and until she does, Adam is _not_ letting go of her. “Aby? Sweetie? Do you, uh...” He drops his voice to a whisper. “Do you want to go with Rel? Does he play nice?”

 

“Yah.” Aby squirms a little. “I love Unka Rel.”

 

“He is  _ so good  _ with the kids,” Ixa says. Then she lowers her voice a little. “I get why you’re worried but no, really, she’ll be okay with him.”

 

Well, shit. If Ixa trusts this guy with her kid, and if Aby feels safe with him... Adam doesn’t have any real choice but to trust him too. And, well... Rel  _ did  _ sort of back him up on that little snub. He lets Aby go, and she runs back to Rel. Rel picks her up, perches her on his shoulders, and nods to Ixa. “WE SHALL RETURN IN THREE VARGAS, AS AGREED.” And he turns and trots off towards the lake, with Aby giggling and squealing all the way.

 

“I’ll watch him.” Acxa lays a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “But... I don’t think it’ll be necessary.” And she heads off in the same direction.

 

“Hey, uh...” Keith clears his throat. “I just thought of something. I’m gonna go talk to Cherrin again. No big deal, just--how about you walk around and get some more info in town or catch up with your friends or whatever?” He takes off without waiting for an answer.

 

Adam just stands there watching Rel and Aby, watching Acxa casually wander along behind them like she just happens to be heading for the lake herself. 

 

None of this makes any sense. 

 

Or maybe... maybe it does. Rel clearly likes it here. He likes helping out around the colony. Everyone seems to like him. But at the same time Adam remembers how sad he seemed, sitting out there on that rock the night before, whispering to the stars.

 

He tries not to think too much about the obvious parallel. 

 

* * *

 

It’s the same all over the colony. Everyone loves Rel, and with good reason. He’s made himself very useful. He helps with construction. He helps on the farm. He helps Ollyx with the animals. He watches the kids when their parents need to work. 

 

The kids, God, it’s just like Mellari and Ixa said, Rel is  _ so good with the kids.  _ Acxa only watched him with Aby for a few doboshes before it became obvious that she didn’t need to. The adults say he takes the kids to the forest and the lake to catch bugs and mudshrimp and sail toy boats and pick berries and flowers and stuff. He’s teaching them numbers and colors and the pictographs they use out here to get around the limitations of the translator nanites. And the kids love him.

 

But everyone seems to agree with Adam’s assessment. He likes it here and he plans on staying, that much is clear. But he also seems sad, and he’s very sensitive about the subject of his tri-mates. By now everyone’s stopped asking about them.

 

Adam runs into Cherrin and Keith as they’re coming out of the wreck, which pings him as kind of weird; he can’t think of any Rel-related reasons for Keith to be digging around in there. Keith handwaves it off when Adam asks him, makes some noises about standard operating procedure with regards to making sure Rel wasn’t doing anything sketchy in there. Cherrin just sort of looks away and pretends not to hear or see anything, which pings Adam as even weirder. But whatever.

 

Zethrid and Ezor come back to the inn a little later that afternoon with some interesting information. That’s definitely an escape pod Rel crash-landed in. It doesn’t have much in the way of propulsion, and even less in the way of a navigation system. It appears to be programmed to seek out the nearest livable planet when deployed. 

 

There’s no way it could have survived a trip through the asteroid belt, which means Rel’s ship must have been on this side of it when he punched out.

 

All right. With that, and with some idea of what a Melkorian ship is made of and thus a specific material to scan for, they know where to start looking.

 

* * *

 

It takes longer than they expect, and there are a couple of false positives in the form of various bits of space junk, but a couple of quintants out they pick up a signature big enough and pure enough to be an actual ship. And sure enough, they find it. It’s a little bigger than the Blades’ ship, made of some weird seamless lustrous metal, and its shape vaguely reminds Adam of a stingray. 

 

It appears to be drifting through space. Its engine and weapons are offline. Its shields are down. Their scanners can’t seem to penetrate the hull to detect any life signs.

 

But there’s clearly someone alive on board, and they’re hailing the Blades. 

 

“GALRA VESSEL.”

 

“WE HAVE DONE YOU NO HARM.”

 

“WE ARE NO THREAT TO YOU.”

 

“WE ARE BROKEN.”

 

“LEAVE US.”

 

“LEAVE US.”

 

Adam glances at Keith out of the corner of his eye, and Keith returns that glance.  _ What the hell,  _ it says. “We’re not going to hurt you,” Keith says to them. “We’re with the Blade of Marmora. We’re a relief organization. We provide assistance to those who need it. You said you’re ‘broken--’ is your ship damaged? We might be able to help you with repairs, or tow you to a maintenance dock--”

 

“OUR SHIP IS IN WORKING ORDER.”

 

_ “WE _ ARE BROKEN.”

 

“What do you mean?” Keith asks. “If you need medical attention, we can--”

 

“YOUR OFFER IS KIND.”

 

“BUT UNNECESSARY.”

 

“THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO.”

 

“LEAVE US.”

 

Wait a minute.

 

Adam hits the mute key on the comm. “How many voices are you counting?”

 

“Two,” Keith says. “You too?”

 

“Yep.” Adam unmutes the comm. “My name is Adam. Uh... of Earth. And you are...?”

 

“WE ARE...” A long pause and a heavy sigh. “I AM XA OF MELKOROS.”

 

“I AM SHU OF MELKOROS.”

 

Keith looks at Adam, eyes wide, and mutes the comm again. “ _ Xashurel,”  _ he whispers. “Holy shit, Rel was--”

 

Adam nods. Rel was out there whispering their names to the stars. And why would he be doing that? 

 

Adam hits the mute key again. “Xa, Shu... when you say ‘we are broken’ do you mean you’re missing one of your people?”

 

A long pause. 

 

“YES.”

 

“OUR TRI-MATE.”

 

“HE LEFT US.”

 

“WE WERE FOOLISH.”

 

“WE WERE WEARY OF TRAVELING.”

 

“WE WANTED TO FIND A PLANET AND SETTLE.”

 

“HE DID NOT.”

 

“WE FOUGHT.”

 

“WE REFUSED TO YIELD.”

 

“NOW HE IS GONE.”

 

“Your tri-mate,” Adam starts, “wouldn’t happen to be named ‘Rel,’ would he?”

 

There’s a long silence.

 

“REL...”

 

“REL.”   
  


“HOW DO YOU--”

 

“YOU KNOW OF REL?”

 

“Yeah, we’ve met,” Adam replies. “We know where he is. He’s fine. He’s on a safe planet. We can take you to him.”

 

“WE CANNOT GO TO HIM.”

 

“HE LEFT US.”

 

“Oh, come on!” What is  _ with _ these people!? “Just follow us, and the three of you can sit down and talk this over and--”

 

There’s a sound like a weary chuckle.

 

“YOU MEAN WELL.”

 

“BUT YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND.”

 

“YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT IT MEANS.”

 

“FOR A MELKORIAN TO LEAVE HIS TRIAD.”

 

_ Okay,  _ Adam thinks.  _ I’ll bite.  _ “What does it mean?”

 

“THE TRIAD IS ALL.”

 

“IT IS OUR LIFE.”

 

“ALL WE ARE.”

 

“THREE, AS ONE.”

 

“LEAVING ONE’S TRIAD...”

 

“IS THE MOST FINAL OF DECISIONS.”

 

Keith grimaces a little. “Yikes?” Adam shushes him.

 

“REL HAS LEFT US.”

 

“HE IS GONE.”

 

“OUR TRIAD IS BROKEN.”

 

_ “WE _ ARE BROKEN.”

 

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND NOW?”

 

“THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO, GALRA.”

 

Adam just sits there for a while, trying to process what he’s hearing. What they’re saying. Oh hell no. He can’t leave it here. “You’re wrong,” he says. “He still loves you.”

 

“HE WILL NOT HAVE US.”

 

“HE HAS CHOSEN.”

 

“Okay, then let me ask you this--every night he sits out on a rock in the field and looks up at the sky and says this one word over and over. ‘Xashurel.’ Does that mean what I think it means?”

 

“HE SAYS--”

 

“OUR NAME--”

 

“WHY?”

 

“WHY...”

 

“Why do you think? Because  _ he misses you!” _ Adam throws up his hands. “He misses you and he wishes he’d just tried a little harder to work it out and just talked to you instead of leaving and  _ he wants to see you again,  _ maybe he thought running away was the only thing he could do then but now he knows better--”

 

“Uh... Adam?” Keith lets out a very uncomfortable-sounding chuckle and squirms like he would rather be literally  _ anywhere in the universe  _ than anywhere near Adam right now. “Where is this coming from?”

 

“--and if he was here right now he’d--he’d tell you, he’d tell you he’s sorry, he’d tell you how important you are to him! He just--” Adam heard Keith, he hears what’s coming out of his own mouth, he knows  _ exactly  _ where it’s coming from, and he can’t make it stop. “He loves you and he misses you and he just--he wants you back. He wants everything to be okay again. He just wants all of you together again. And if that’s what you want too... then follow us.”

 

There’s a long and tense silence.

 

“PLEASE...”

 

“TAKE US TO REL.”

 

Adam lets out a breath and looks over at Keith. Keith very pointedly does not make eye contact with him. “What?”

 

Keith shakes his head. He looks weirdly traumatized. “Nothing.”

 

Adam considers challenging him on that for a minute and decides against it. “You mind getting me a course?”

 

Keith doesn’t say anything. He just pulls up the nav system and sets a course for Haven.

 

* * *

 

It’s late afternoon when Adam lands their ship in the big field outside town, and just like he did last time, Rel comes thundering up to meet them. He opens his mouth to holler at them some more, but then he recognizes Adam.

 

“ADAM OF EARTH,” Rel booms. “YOU HAVE RETURNED SO SOON?”

 

“Yes, Your Overlordliness,” Adam says. “And we brought some friends.”

 

Rel looks around, between Adam’s face and the faces of his crew, and huffs. He’s about to say something else when there’s a strange sound in the atmosphere, a weird oscillating fluttering noise. Recognition flashes across Rel’s face, but he says nothing as the Melkorian ship gracefully descends into the field and settles down on three spindly legs that extend from its belly.

 

A hatch opens in the belly of the ship, and a walkway extends out onto the ground, and two Melkorians come out of it, walking like their legs are stiff and weak. One of them is taller and slimmer than Rel. The other is shorter and stockier.

 

Neither of them speaks, and neither of them can bear to look Rel in the eyes. Rel just stares at the ground and wrings all three of his hands and scuffs a toe in the dirt.

 

“Well, go on,” Adam whispers, gently jabbing Rel in the side with his elbow. “They’re here. Go talk to them.”

 

Rel swallows loudly and trudges towards the Melkorians and their ship, still staring at the ground. He stops, farther away than Adam really thinks he should. 

 

“XA... SHU...” He opens his mouth to say something else. Nothing comes out. Adam has the weirdest urge to just grab all three of them by the backs of their heads and gently mash them all together, but that would require a third arm and he also remembers what Zethrid said about not wanting to be on a Melkorian triad’s bad side. Well, if nothing else, a common target might get them all talking... no, no, better not.

 

“REL,” the taller Melkorian says.

 

“REL,” the shorter one repeats. “WE...”

 

“WE WERE FOOLISH,” the taller says.

 

“LET US RETURN TO OUR SHIP,” the shorter says.

 

“WE WILL CONTINUE TO TRAVEL.”

 

“AS YOU WISHED.”

 

Rel doesn’t move. 

 

“I...” He scuffs his foot in the dirt again. “I HAVE... RECONSIDERED.” He turns and looks over his shoulder, at the people and the town that welcomed him in. “THIS PLANET IS SAFE. RESOURCES ARE ABUNDANT. ITS INHABITANTS HAVE BEEN...” He reaches up, takes gentle hold of the flower crown perched on his head, and removes it, clasping it to his heart. “THEY HAVE BEEN MOST HOSPITABLE. IF YOU STILL WISH TO SETTLE... THIS PLANET IS IDEAL.”

 

Durva lets out a pained sigh. “Oh boy.”

 

“Hey.” Cherrin gently elbows them in the side. “Having someone around with their own ship could be handy? I mean, how much could we explore with the roadbeasts? Even the new speeders are--”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Durva sighs. “I know, but...  _ three of them.” _

 

The two other Melkorians exchange a look. Then they step forward, and so does Rel, and they meet there in the middle. They lean forward so that their foreheads touch, and they bring the fingertips of their middle hands together to form a triangle. They stand there like this in silence for a while. 

 

And then they step back.

 

“WE ARE XASHUREL OF HAVEN,” they say in unison. “WE ARE GRATEFUL TO YOU, PEOPLE OF HAVEN. WE WILL REPAY YOUR KINDNESS IN ANY WAY THAT IS WITHIN OUR POWER.”

 

“Aww.” Ezor looks like she’s about to cry. “That’s so sweet!”

 

“Yeah,” Adam sighs. And it is. Of course it is. And he’s glad he helped them come back together again. 

 

So why does he feel so awful right now?

 

* * *

 

“Curtis... Takashi... if you’re both watching this that means two things...”

 

_ I shouldn’t be doing this,  _ Curtis thinks. Takashi is out mowing the yard right now but if he happens to take a break and he comes back to the model room and walks in on this, it’s going to be awkward to say the least. 

 

_ Why  _ am  _ I watching this again?  _ Curtis asks himself as the video plays on. 

 

Obviously, he misses Adam and wants to hear his voice again. But that’s kind of silly. If he really wants to talk to Adam, all he has to do is--well, he probably shouldn’t call, aside from the obvious uncomfortable reasons there’s the whole time zone thing. But he can text, right? Even if Adam doesn’t answer it, he’ll still see it and when he’s ready, he’ll reach out... right?

 

Is he looking for clues? Is that what he’s doing? Going over this old video hoping to hear something that’ll tell him why Adam felt like he had to leave the way he did, or what was bothering him in the days leading up to it?

 

“He’s so sweet, and so kind... he’s got the biggest heart...”

 

Curtis blinks back tears and swallows hard around the lump in his throat. Adam said that about him, but he might as well have said it about Takashi. He might as well have said it about  _ himself. _

 

Why is he watching this again? Why is he sitting here watching what they were all so sure would be Adam’s last words to him and Takashi, dragging up all of these memories again? Why is he doing this to himself? After all the times he’s gently (and sometimes not-so-gently when the situation called for it) corrected Adam and Takashi for treating themselves badly, why is he doing it to himself now? Is he punishing himself for whatever he might have done to make Adam think he had to--

 

“I love you so much. Both of you. I always will.”

 

Wait.  _ What!? _

 

Curtis runs the video back a little and plays that again, and the words feel like an elusive puzzle piece sliding into position.

 

_ I don’t want to cause any trouble. _

 

He kept saying that. Curtis never understood what he meant by it, or what kind of “trouble” he thought he might cause, but...

 

_ You know if you need anything from us all you have to do is ask-- _

 

_ No.  _ No. _ That’s the last thing you want me to do. _

 

That night at rehearsal, the night Curtis has been cursing himself for all this time. He thinks back on that, tries to replay as much of it in his head as he can. He kept catching himself staring at Adam even though he knew he shouldn’t. He should have stopped there, especially after Adam caught him doing it, but then Adam’s hand started giving him trouble and--

 

Of course Curtis didn’t mean anything improper when he took Adam’s hand and tried to help him work the knots out of it but he should have asked, dammit,  _ he should have asked first-- _

 

Then he remembers why he stopped. What made him realize he should have asked. When he looked up and saw Adam staring at their hands, a flush of maroon spreading across his cheeks--

 

And he remembers how Adam wouldn’t look Takashi in the eye when he came over for dinner that night after that horrible day in the simulator, the way he made sure to keep his hands above the table--

 

Curtis shuts his laptop and drops his forehead onto his desk as the last piece of the puzzle snaps into place. 

 

_ I love you so much. Both of you. I always will. _

 

He wants to kick himself for not realizing it sooner. It should have been obvious. Right? All the signs were right there. It should have been obvious, and he missed it. How could he possibly miss that, especially knowing what he knows now about his own feelings?

 

If he’d picked up on it sooner... if he’d sucked it up and dealt with his own feelings... 

 

But Curtis knows he can sit here and  _ if only  _ all he wants and it won’t change anything. And what about Takashi? Maybe Curtis doesn’t get jealous (and  _ boy  _ is this whole situation ever starting to shed a whole lot of light on why that is), but again, he knows his experience isn’t universal. And Takashi has been acting strange since they got back from Houston. He’s clingier than usual, especially at night, like he’s afraid he’ll wake up to find that Curtis slipped away from him. 

 

Takashi knows something is up. He and Coran were talking about that painting and he’s not stupid. He can’t  _ not  _ know.

 

They need to talk about this, Curtis thinks. He knows that. He can’t keep it bottled up forever. What’s the worst thing that can happen?

 

Well, the worst thing that can happen is, Curtis loses  _ both  _ of them. Keith too. Maybe even Veronica. And he’d have to tell his family why he and Takashi split up, that it was his fault, and... he can’t finish that thought.

 

What’s the best thing that can happen? They’re both okay with it, and--he’s afraid to finish that thought too, but just for the sake of the exercise he tries. He imagines new pictures added to the walls on either side of the fireplace, of the three of them in Calgary and Houston and Osaka with their families, the three of them with Keith, the three of them on Altea in matching formal wear but he can’t decide whether that means tuxedos or Altean robes because Adam and Takashi would both look amazing in both of them, the three of them with their kids--

 

So what’s likely to happen? Something in between. He knows that. Of course he knows that. But he’s afraid it’s going to be closer to worst than best, and maybe Takashi wouldn’t leave him but this thing would always be hanging between them. Any time Adam came up in conversation, any time they had to work together, it would be there.

 

_ This is a mess,  _ Curtis thinks,  _ and I don’t know how to clean any of it up. _

 

* * *

 

The market carts come out again the next morning, just in case Adam and Keith and their Galra lady friends want to do some shopping before they leave. And now that they take money, it’s even harder to say no.

 

Adam buys a bottle of Mellari’s finest nightberry mead. He never drank the stuff. It’s way too sweet. He doesn’t even know why he’s buying it. He buys a jar of Yohnn’s chili paste, too. 

 

He keeps catching himself staring at Xashurel as they browse the carts, as Rel introduces his tri-mates to his new friends on Haven, as Aby runs up with handfuls of wildflowers for Omma Xa and Auntie Shu, as they talk and laugh--that’s what gets Adam. 

 

Rel of all people, laughing. He’s not wearing his flower crown anymore. He’s dropped the whole “overlord” thing. He’s happy. They’re happy. That’s a good thing. Adam keeps telling himself that, keeps telling himself there’s no reason for his heart to ache the way it does right now.

 

Keith comes back a little later with Durva--which strikes Adam as a little weird, they’ve wrapped up their business here, what did he need to talk to Durva about? 

 

Whatever. 

 

They say their goodbyes, and Adam promises to come visit again when he can. 

 

He plops himself down in the pilot seat and starts his preflight checks, and Keith settles into the co-pilot seat. “All right,” Keith says. “Time to head home.” 

 

For just a fraction of a second, Adam thinks he meant “home” as in “Earth” and feels his heart clench a little. But no. He meant Daibazaal. “‘Kay.”

 

Keith gives him a weird look. “You want me to fly the asteroid belt this time?”

 

“No,” Adam deadpans. “I got it.”

 

Weird look intensifies. “Are, you, uh... are you okay?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Keith opens his mouth to press the issue, then seems to decide against it.

 

Neither of them says a word through the asteroid belt. Adam still feels that cold slimy thing stirring in his chest when he sees the first ship-killer, and by the time he comes out the other side of the belt there’s still cold sweat beading on his forehead and an uneasy, sour feeling in his stomach but mostly he just feels... empty.

 

Keith doesn’t say anything. Instead, he pulls up the nav system, does a quick search, and sets a course to a planet a few vargas off their route, which piques Adam’s interest a little. “Exima’s a little off the path, but it’s the closest planet on the teludav grid so...” He hits the comm, calls in to request a wormhole to Daibazaal. “You want to try flying through it?”

 

Adam shrugs. “Sure.”

 

Weird look approaches critical parameters. “Adam.”

 

“What.”

 

“I just figured you’d be a little more excited about taking a shortcut that violates every law of physics you taught me. Are you okay? Do you need to, uh... go ‘walk off the adrenaline’ again?”

 

“I’m okay.” Adam shakes his head. “How short a shortcut is this?”

 

“Uh... it’ll take us about three vargas to get to Exima, maybe another waiting in line, and then once we’re in it’ll get us home in about a varga and a half.”

 

“Huh,” Adam says. “Neat.”

 

“‘Neat!?’” Keith throws up his hands. “What the hell is wrong with you!? I’m showing you some of the coolest shit in the universe here, and all you have to say about it is _‘neat!?’”_

 

“Okay, okay.” Adam huffs out a sigh. “I’m excited to try it. I am. I really am. I’m just tired.”

 

Keith mostly leaves him alone after that. And yeah, flying through the wormhole  _ is  _ cool. He’s seen one before, of course, on the  _ Atlas,  _ but flying through one himself for the first time is kind of exciting. He feels like he should be more amped about it than he is, but... well, he wasn’t lying. He’s tired. Of course he’s more than just tired, but Keith doesn’t need to know that.

 

True to Keith’s word, about a varga and a half later the wormhole spits them out within sight of Daibazaal. Adam sets them down on their landing pad, and Keith’s Galra lady friends collect their baggage and their souvenirs from Haven and take off, and Adam and Keith grab their stuff and head out.

 

They barely say two words to each other all the way back to Keith’s apartment. When they get to the building, Keith checks his snail mail box and finds a brightly colored slip of paper in there. “Huh,” he says. He checks the time and motions to Kosmo. “I’m, uh, technically not supposed to do this when he’s closed, but...” He nods towards the locked door of the super’s office and takes hold of Kosmo’s floof. There’s a flash. A minute later there’s another flash, and they’re back. Keith has a box under his arm that looks like an elephant sat on it.

 

“Are you kidding me!?” he half-wails, letting go of Kosmo to hold the box up and get a better look at it.

 

“What is it?”

 

Keith just shakes his head in disgust and shows Adam the box. It’s covered in stickers and ink stamps in various alien languages, most of which his mask translates to variations on the theme of  _ delivery failed, return to sender.  _ The shipping label has Takashi and Curtis’ address on it.

 

Adam is sorry he asked.

 

* * *

 

Shiro’s phone buzzes in his pocket while he’s working in his office. He doesn’t get a chance to check it for a while--classes may be over for the summer, but there are still meetings and conference calls and administrative crap to deal with. When he does get a minute to check it, he finds some more files from Keith. More flight data. 

 

But this is different. This isn’t from his ship. This is from... 

 

Oh, holy shit. 

 

He did it.  _ He actually did it. _

 

Shiro looks over the logs and the charts and knows exactly what he’s going to hear if he plays that file entitled  _ cockpit_audio  _ and as much help as he knows it’s going to be, he isn’t sure his heart can take actually listening to it. There’s another audio file called  _ dr_statement,  _ and yet another called  _ nav_statement.  _ These aren’t part of the flight data. These are recorded statements from the ship’s doctor and navigator. 

 

The doctor describes Adam’s condition at the time he was brought onto the rebel freighter, a couple of movements before the crash. They’d had to carry him because he was too weak to walk. He was severely dehydrated, wasted away to skin and bones, eaten up with parasites inside and out. He’d lost an eye and a lot of skin and the Galra had done only enough about either of those to keep him from dying on the way to wherever they were taking him. He was in better shape at the time of the crash, but not by much. The doctor figures it took him about sixty days in colony time to get all of his strength back.

 

The navigator describes what happened after the pilot got knocked out. He was a trainee, and with the pilot down and the senior navigator missing he panicked, got on the intercom, and asked if anyone on board could fly a freighter. The next thing he knew Adam was there, sliding into the pilot seat of a craft he’d never flown, with instruments he couldn’t read, and despite that, despite the missing eye, despite the fact that he was still recovering from injuries and illness and everything else the Galra put him through, despite the engine they lost in the asteroid belt, he took that ship through that asteroid belt and to the planet that became their new home.

 

Both of them end their statements by saying pretty much the same thing: there are a lot of people still alive and safe because Adam piloted that ship through that asteroid belt and landed it on that planet.

 

This is it. This is the Holy Grail. This is exactly what Command asked Adam for,  _ all  _ of what they asked Adam for, knowing perfectly well he didn’t have any of it. Well,  _ now they fucking have it. _

 

A single text follows that data dump:

 

_ Tell Command to suck this and swallow :D _

 

Shiro wants to share in that sentiment, oh holy shit does he  _ ever  _ want to march right down to Command right this minute and slap this on the table, but the most he can manage is a weary little smile.

 

Because there’s no point in doing that unless Adam comes back. And if he does come back...

 

Shiro wants him to come back. Of course he does. He wants Adam to come home, he wants Curtis to have his best friend back, that’s all he’s wanted ever since Adam took off, but now his brain won’t stop conjuring up images of things he knows he can’t have and now that he knows exactly what was wrapped up in the middle of that knot in his stomach he’s afraid he’s going to end up saying something or doing something that’s going to scare Adam off again, or even worse... 

 

He doesn’t want to finish that thought but it keeps going anyway, through all of the worst possible outcomes to this whole mess, through all the damage this thing in his heart has the potential to do to Curtis, to their marriage, to whatever they both still have with Adam, to Keith, to their families, and the harder he tries to stop it the more he--

 

He feels that flush of cold in his chest and realizes a little too late what he’s worked himself up into. His first impulse is to text Curtis, even if he’s on duty Shiro can still yell into that digital void, that’ll still take enough of the pressure off to let him function until Curtis can get back to him.

 

He can’t. Not this time. Because Curtis will ask him what set it off. 

 

Instead, he calls his aide. Tells her he’s going home sick. Isn’t sure how he’s managing to breathe enough to tell her that. Is  _ very  _ glad it’s summer break and he doesn’t have to deal with getting a sub or anything. Then he calls Dr. Sung’s office and asks if she can squeeze him in.

 

She can. Thank fucking God, she can.

 

The base shuttle bus is quiet this time of day. In fact, he has the whole bus to himself and doesn’t have to worry quite so much about keeping the panic off his face. That’s something. He gets to the office and checks in with the receptionist without breaking down, and that’s something too.

 

But he can’t bring himself to tell Dr. Sung exactly what he’s freaking out about. He’s afraid to even think about it after what just happened. But he talks around the shape of it, traces as close an outline as he dares to and she listens and nods in all the right places and doesn’t interrupt him.

 

And when he’s said all he can bring himself to say, she nods one more time.

 

“You know I can’t tell you what Curtis and I talk about, not unless you’re here together and he’s okay with it,” she starts. “All I’m going to say is... you two need to talk.”

 

Shiro feels the bottom drop out of his stomach.

 

Curtis knows. He’s sure of it.

 

_ Coran did say something to him,  _ he thinks. Coran must have seen how flustered Shiro got about the whole tri-matrimony thing and he must have done the math and he must have said something. Or else it was just that obvious. Either way, Curtis knows and there’s no point trying to hide it now.

 

She’s right. Of course she’s right. They need to talk about it. But even if he never does anything about what he’s feeling, it’s always going to be hanging there between them, and Curtis is so patient and so kind and he doesn’t get mad but even  _ his  _ patience and kindness have to have limits and this--this is asking far too much of him. 

 

But dammit, Shiro loves him too much to lie to him. 

 

She’s right. He needs to tell Curtis the truth. 

 

He tries to on the way home. Because Curtis knows he doesn’t go see her outside of his usual weekly appointment unless something got to him. He knows there’s an elephant in the room. And if Shiro can just point at it and say  _ hey look at that fucking elephant  _ Curtis can nod and say  _ yeah that sure is an elephant  _ and they can discuss this like adults. He opens his mouth to say it once, twice, a third time, and by then there’s no way Curtis hasn’t noticed it, but he doesn’t push. He doesn’t pry. He just drives and waits, ready to listen if Shiro can ever get the damn words out.

 

He can’t.

 

* * *

 

Curtis knows something is wrong from the second Takashi texts him to ask for a ride home from Dr. Sung’s office. His appointments are on Thursdays. He didn’t mention rescheduling this week. So something happened. Something set off a panic attack. Curtis thinks it must have been a flashback at first, something about the prison ship or the arena, both of which fall under the heading of “things Takashi tells the doc but doesn’t want Curtis to hear.” Which would explain why Takashi didn’t tell him exactly what happened.

 

On the way home, it becomes clear that it’s something else. Takashi is trying to tell him, but he can’t seem to get the words out and the more he tries, the worse Curtis feels and the more sure he is that Takashi knows what’s been on his mind lately--and the more horribly sure he is that  _ that’s  _ what upset him today.

 

They need to talk about this. Before this goes any further, before one of them panics and does something rash, they need to talk about it. Now. Right now.

 

But Curtis can’t get the words out either, and they drive home in silence.

 

He makes Takashi’s favorite bad-day curry rice for dinner. They both pick at it halfheartedly and Curtis can feel that strange thing hanging between them, heavier than it’s ever been.

 

They don’t stay up long after they’ve cleaned up their dishes. Takashi looks exhausted, and Curtis doesn’t want to leave him in there alone right now, so they both climb into bed. But before Curtis can get his arm around Takashi’s waist, Takashi twists around and just sort of burrows his head under Curtis’ chin. 

 

“I love you so much,” Takashi whispers, and he wraps his arm around Curtis and clings like his life depends on it. 

 

“I love you too,” Curtis whispers back. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” He kisses Takashi’s forehead and rubs his back and murmurs  _ it’s okay,  _ again and again. He’s not so sure it is. But it’s all he can say. 

 

* * *

 

He wakes up sometime in the middle of the night and knows instantly that it’s not okay. 

 

Takashi’s side of the bed is empty.

 

For one terrifying moment, Curtis is convinced that he’s gone. That he’s left. But then he sees the faint light under the bedroom door and hears quiet movement in the living room.

 

He gets up as quietly as he can and pads down the hall. He hopes to see Takashi getting a snack or watching TV or something. He half-expects to see Takashi trying to sleep on the couch... or packing a bag. What he actually sees stops him cold halfway down the hall.

 

Takashi doesn’t see him, hasn’t heard him, doesn’t know he’s there. He’s sitting on the couch, hunched slightly over the picture frame he’s holding. He’s not crying, but he’s longing for something and it’s there on his face, desperate and bare and raw and it makes Curtis’ heart ache to see him like that.

 

Which picture is he staring at?  _ Whose  _ picture is he staring at?

 

Curtis scans the expanses of wall on either side of the fireplace. None of the pictures are missing. None of the wedding pictures. None of the pictures of him and Takashi together. None of the pictures of either of them with Adam. All of the pictures, all of them, are where they should be--

 

Wait. 

 

One of the pictures  _ is  _ missing. The one on the mantel. The one of the three of them. Curtis realizes what that means and his heart leaps into his throat and he feels tears of relief welling up in his eyes even as he gently curses himself for being so afraid to talk to Takashi about his feelings--all this time, they’ve both been--if Curtis had just sat him down and  _ talked to him-- _

 

But none of that matters now. All that matters now is that it’s going to be okay.  _ They’re  _ going to be okay. If he can muster up the courage to talk to Takashi about this--if he can get Takashi to talk about this with him--it’s all going to be okay.

 

So he steels his nerves and wipes his eyes and takes those last few steps into the living room and opens his mouth to say something, but Takashi hears his footsteps. He springs up off the couch like a startled rabbit, and somehow he has the presence of mind to gently put that picture down instead of dropping it on the floor. He looks mortified. Like he thinks he’s been caught doing something terrible--Veronica was right after all, he really  _ doesn’t _ know--he thinks--oh God, poor Takashi.

 

So Curtis takes another step towards the couch, as calmly as he can. “It’s okay. _It's okay._ Let’s--”

 

“You--you don’t understand, I--” 

 

“I think I  _ do _ understand. And it’s okay. Please just--come on. Sit back down, I’ll make us some coffee, and we can talk about it, okay?” He takes another step. “I promise it’s okay, I’m not mad, I  _ won’t  _ be mad, just--Takashi,  _ please just talk to me.” _

 

For just one precious second, it looks like Takashi might actually do that.

 

Then he stammers out an apology and bolts out the back door.

 

* * *

 

Adam sits on Keith’s patio and stares out over the city and tries not to think too much about that damn package sitting on the living room floor.

 

_ I should be thrilled, _ he thinks.

 

His first patrol with the Blades went great. It went really, really great. He flew through  _ that  _ asteroid belt without a scratch--twice. He flew through a wormhole. He got to see his friends on Haven. There are three Melkorians getting their happily ever after thanks in part to him. He got to spend a lot of really interesting quality time with Keith. The pantry and fridge and freezer are full of good fresh food and the cabinets and drawers are full of decent cookware and they don’t have to eat fucking  _ meatfruit _ .

 

So why does he feel like absolute shit right now?

 

He knows why. Of course he does. It’s like the universe knows the real reason why he left, and now it’s rubbing his nose in it.

 

Time and distance will fix everything, he tells himself again. It will. But clearly not today. Today, Adam sits there on that bench and watches the setting sun turn the Daibazaal sky into a riot of violet and red and takes out his phone.

 

He should just delete the damn picture, he thinks as he nevertheless continues to stare at it, at his younger self with one arm around Curtis and the other around Takashi, pulling them all close together. He should delete all of them, but especially that one--

 

“Hey.”

 

Adam makes some kind of embarrassing noise, fumbles the phone, and helplessly watches it tumble onto the patio face-up with the evidence on display as Keith parks his ass on the bench next to him. 

 

“I promised Shiro that if I even thought you’d changed your mind about this, I’d take you home,” Keith says, and Adam already doesn’t like where this conversation is headed. “And I meant it. Pack up. We’re leaving first thing tomorrow.”

 

“What!?” Adam backpedals a little and almost falls off the bench. “Are--are you  _ high? _ I love it here! What makes you think I changed my mind?”

 

“Do you want a list?” Keith’s voice drops to that unnervingly spot-on imitation of Takashi’s again. “Get comfortable. Maybe go to the bathroom first. Or even better...  _ you tell me. _ ” He raises an eyebrow. “Ever since you asked me to come get you I’ve had this nagging feeling like there’s something you’re not telling me. Now I  _ know  _ it. So start talking, or start packing your shit.  _ Now.” _

 

All of a sudden, Adam feels that countdown timer hanging over his head again.

 

* * *

 

Shiro hears the back door open and considers, just for a second, jumping off the other side of the roof and running off down the street. Of course he won’t do that. It’s ridiculous to even think about. But Curtis knows where he is, and why, and it’s only a matter of time before--

 

“Takashi?” Curtis doesn’t sound upset, and somehow that’s the worst part of this. “I’m coming up.”

 

_ God, _ Shiro thinks,  _ what the fuck am I going to do? _

 

Even if Coran didn’t tell him anything incriminating Curtis isn’t stupid, he’s not oblivious, he knows the history, he was there when the history happened. Curtis has got to have some idea what’s been eating him and what broke him today and why he was sitting there in the middle of the night staring at that damn picture and why he’s sitting on the damn roof now. 

 

He hears footsteps coming up the ladder and across the roof, feels a puff of summer night air as Curtis spreads one of those cheap throw blankets out on the rough shingles. Curtis stretches out on the blanket and pats the empty side of it, and Shiro sighs and wriggles over onto it.

 

“This is going to sound crazy,” Curtis starts, “but I think we’ve both been freaking out about the same thing.” He reaches for Shiro’s hand. “But we won’t know until we talk about it.”

 

There’s no way they could be thinking the same thing, Shiro thinks. It’s not possible. But he knows Curtis is right about that one thing. So he squeezes his eyes shut and holds on to Curtis’ hand like it’s all he has left in the world and nods. 

 

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ICC: Intergalactic Coalition Currency. New currency, same potential for sound-of-disgust jokes!
> 
> Yes, the Melkorians are the aliens from War of the Worlds (the TV show, before it went completely to shit with crappy new aliens and killing off the best characters and whatnot but that's another rant for another time) with the serial numbers filed off.


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith’s a smart kid, isn’t he? Always has been. He’s been watching. Listening. Adam should have known it’d only be a matter of time before he figured it all out.
> 
> “You’re still in love with both of them,” Keith says again. This time, it’s not a question.
> 
> And now that someone’s said it out loud, he can’t deny it anymore. Adam drops his face into his hands and nods helplessly, and neither of them says anything for a long, long time.
> 
> Keith finally gives him a kind of awkward pat on the back. “It’s okay.”
> 
> “No it’s not,” Adam whimpers, unable to pick his head up much less look Keith in the eye. “Keith, what the fuck am I supposed to do about this?”

“I’m fine.” 

 

Adam shoves his phone back in his pocket and kicks himself just a little for being too quick on the draw with an autoresponse he knows perfectly well Keith isn’t going to buy. “Just a little homesick,” he adds. Now that-- _that_ he might get away with. It’s not untrue, not exactly. And “homesick” does not necessarily mean “I want to go back to Earth immediately.” It just means there are things he misses. Perfectly normal and to be expected when one is who knows how many light-years away from one’s home. 

 

“Homesick.” One corner of Keith’s mouth twitches upward. Nope. He’s definitely not buying it. _Shit._ “Is that what you kids are calling it these days? Come on. I know you, Adam. This isn’t you.”

 

“What are you talking about? Of course it’s me.”

 

“You were right, y’know. When Shiro told me he was sick? He _did_ sugarcoat it. After we came back to Earth and we found out you were gone he told me everything. Even the parts you didn’t tell me. He told me about you having actual panic attacks over what was happening to him. You didn’t tell me that.”

 

“Because you didn’t need to worry about it, and what does this have to do with--”

 

“All that time I thought you just--I thought you just didn’t care about him and you just ran off the first chance you got, I didn’t know you were--” Keith shakes his head. “I didn’t know how bad it really was and I didn’t know how hard it really was on _you.”_

 

Adam huffs out a deep sigh. “I said you don’t owe me an apology, okay--”

 

“Yeah, I do, but that’s not the point. The point is--now I know how much everything had to _suck_ to make you want to bail out. A shitty meeting with Command? Getting told you couldn’t fly anymore because of your hand and your eye and stuff? If that’s all it was, you would have been yelling at Curtis to get you on the _Atlas_ next time they were going out near Altea or Ebb or somewhere that might be able to fix you.” Keith’s eyes narrow. “That’s not all it is.”

 

“Of course that’s not all it is!” Adam throws up his hands. “Did you forget the part where I’m pissed off about sitting the whole damn war out on the colony? I couldn’t help you, I couldn’t help Takashi, I couldn’t do _shit_ out there! Is it really that hard to believe I wanted to make up for that? How about wanting to spend some time with _you?_ ” That’s not untrue, either. None of it is. Those things were all straws in the pile, so what does it matter if he leaves out the one that actually broke his back?

 

“I’m not saying I don’t believe that.” Keith pats him on the shoulder. “And I’m really glad we’re getting to spend some time together. I missed you and it’s great to hang out with you again. But there’s something you’re not telling me, and I get the weirdest feeling that whatever it is, _that’s_ what pushed you over the edge.” That hand lands on Adam’s shoulder one more time and stays there. And _clamps._ Shit on a stick _,_ when did he get that strong!? “And we’re going to sit right here until you spill it, or you’re going home.”

 

Adam turns his head and meets Keith’s gaze and feels the bottom drop out of his stomach because he can see the kid is _not fucking around,_ and he’s going to end up hog-tied, shoved into the cargo hold of the ship, and hand-delivered back to Earth... or else he’s going to tell Keith everything.

 

* * *

 

God. Shiro does _not_ want to have this conversation. But Curtis has always had a knack for convincing him to open up when he wants to the least and needs to the most, and he can’t just lay here on the roof staring at the sky with that big warm hand curled around his all night. Shiro knew that as soon as he heard Curtis follow him up here, but now it’s inevitable. He’s going to tell Curtis everything and then--

 

Nothing good is going to come of this. 

 

But Curtis is right. They need to talk about it.

 

“I just,” Shiro starts, and he almost chokes on what’s behind it. “I said I wasn’t going to make the same mistakes with you that I made with Adam, I wasn’t going to keep shit bottled up like this and I know I need to just _use my words like a goddamn adult._ But I don’t know how to say this, and I’m scared of what’ll happen if I do and--there’s no way we’re on the same page here.”

 

“I’m pretty sure we are.” Curtis leans his head against Shiro’s shoulder. “Try me.”

 

* * *

 

Or maybe there’s a third option here. Maybe Adam can stall until Keith gets bored and goes back inside! Great plan. Can’t possibly go wrong.

 

Until Kosmo poofs himself out onto the patio, curls up right in front of the patio door, and goes to sleep, effectively cutting off Adam’s only escape route. _Shit._ Doesn’t keep him from trying to stall, though. “Look,” he sighs. “I’m telling you, that’s it. I just wanted to do some good and hang out with my kiddo and see space and _fly_ without having to worry so much about getting killed out here this time, is all.”

 

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Really.”

 

“Really. End of.”

 

“Then why is my bullshit detector going off?”

 

Adam rubs his forehead. “Your bullshit detector needs recalibrated.”

 

“What’d you say to me that one time? ‘Bullshit by omission is still bullshit?’” Oh God, how does Keith remember that, how does he remember something Adam said to him when he was fourteen and getting gently interrogated over whatever trouble he’d gotten into that day? “Look, I’m not trying to be an asshole here but--”

 

“Oh, it’s just coming naturally?”

 

That almost does it. That almost cracks Keith up. Almost. But not quite. It’s not enough to throw him off the trail he’s picked up. “Something’s eating you. You think I didn’t notice? You think I didn’t see it when I came to pick you up? All that drama at the landing pad with Shiro and Curtis--” He’s quiet for a minute and Adam can see it on his face. He’s just connected a couple of dots. “Is it... no. I know it’s not Shiro and Curtis. I mean, I saw the look on your face when I told you your video worked, I saw it when I showed you the _wedding pictures,_ I know you can’t fake that look, _I’ve seen you try!_ You were happy for them... right?” 

 

Adam doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know if the right to remain silent is a thing on Daibazaal, but he’s damn sure going to make it one right now.

 

It doesn’t work.

 

“Oh shit,” Keith says, eyes wide. _“Is_ it Shiro and Curtis? ...oh _shit!_ It is, isn’t it?”

 

_“No it’s not!”_

 

Nope. Way too quick on the draw and way too loud and way, way, _way_ too defensive. Adam knows the second it’s out of his mouth. He’s blown it.

 

“It is!” Keith just stares at him. “Okay! Wow! I didn’t realize--yeah, that’s rough but... I mean... you’re still happy for them, right?”

 

“Of course I am,” Adam sighs, “I _am._ I wanted them to get together, I wanted them to make each other happy and I’m--you don’t know how glad I am that it worked and they’ve been there for each other all this time, it’s just--” God, he almost wishes someone would knock on the door or call Keith or pull a fire alarm or something so they can _stop having this conversation_ , because the longer it goes on the closer he comes to admitting--

 

“Then what’s the problem? If you’re not, like... _pining_ for one of them--”

 

“I’m not ‘pining for one of them!’” Well... technically, Adam isn’t lying, but he practically shrieks it and he knows Keith has him backed into a corner.

 

And Keith knows it too. “What are you running away from?”

 

* * *

 

“Okay. Then... you go first. If you’re so sure about that.”

 

“If you’re really not ready, I will,” Curtis says as gently as ever, “but could you try for me? I think... I think maybe it’ll help if you just hear yourself say it out loud.”

 

God. 

 

Curtis is right, of course he is, Shiro knows that. He needs to put words to this and call it what it is and once he does that, once he points at it and gives it a name, _then_ he can start to figure out what the hell to do about it, but he can’t. Not directly. 

 

Maybe... maybe he can take the scenic route.

 

“I just...” He swallows hard. If they’re really not on the same page... if they _are_... either way, this is uncharted territory and it scares the hell out of him. “I shouldn’t even be thinking about this.”

 

“Hey.” Curtis gives him a little nudge. “Thoughts are just thoughts, remember? They can’t hurt anything.”

 

“This one might.” Shiro shakes his head. “Some stuff Coran was talking about the other night, at the museum... it’s just... it’s stuck in my head and I can’t get it out.”

 

“What kind of stuff?” Curtis asks him softly.

 

“About that painting. The one with the--” Shiro shuts his eyes tight, knowing that what he’s about to say is going to change everything. “The one with the tri-bonding.”

 

* * *

 

“You _are_ pining,” Keith says, and Adam rolls his eye.

 

“I just said I wasn’t. Can we not? Can we please fucking _not.”_

 

Keith is quiet for a while, and Adam can practically hear the gears turning in his head. 

 

“You know... you never answered my question,” Keith says. “About where all that stuff you said to Xa and Shu was coming from?”

 

“What was I supposed to do, just leave them to--to drift around out there until they _died!?_ I just went off with whatever bullshit I thought would--”

 

“Nope. That all sounded pretty sincere to me. You know what does sound like bullshit? _Literally everything you’re telling me right now._ ”

 

“First, again, your bullshit detector definitely needs a recal and second, _I am not pining for--”_

 

“Are you still in love with Curtis? Hell, Adam, nobody would blame you!”

 

“That’s not it,” Adam huffs, trying like hell to keep his reaction off his face and probably failing miserably.

 

“Then... you’re still in love with _Shiro?”_

 

 _“That’s not it,”_ Adam grates out.

 

Keith ponders that for a while and those gears are still turning in his head and he’s got that look on his face, that one he used to get when he was _this_ close to cracking a tricky math problem. Adam can guess what information Keith is processing in there--the sudden decision to leave Earth again, the uncomfortable parallels in his situation and Rel’s, that fucking monologue that just spilled out of him when they were talking to Xa and Shu, that picture Keith just caught him staring at...

 

And then Adam sees it in his face. He’s figured it out. _Don’t say it,_ he pleads silently. _Don’t say it. Please don’t say it--_

 

“You’re still in love with... _both_ of them?”

 

* * *

 

Curtis doesn’t say anything, doesn’t get up, doesn’t let go of his hand, so Shiro goes on. “I saw you talking to him too, did he tell you about--”

 

“Yeah. He told me about, um...” Curtis laughs softly. “Maybe he told me a little too much, actually? About him and--I mean--good for him but that was kind of like--”

 

“Like thinking about your parents Doing It?”

 

 _“Auh.”_ Curtis shudders a little. “Exactly like that. But yeah. He explained the whole thing. The painting and tri-matrimony and all that. It was really... interesting.”

 

That’s a test. Maybe Curtis doesn’t consciously mean it as one, but Shiro knows him, and he knows Curtis is trying to get a read on him, trying to gauge his reaction.

 

“Yeah,” he says. “It was, but I just--” He swallows again. “Coran came over and started telling me about it, and I had to ask, and--I should have just left it alone!”

 

“Left what alone?” There’s no hint of accusation in Curtis’ voice, just concern, and somehow that makes this so much worse. Goddammit, if he’d just get mad like a normal person, that would make this so much easier...

 

Then again... that’s part of the reason Shiro fell in love with him in the first place, isn’t it? Curtis doesn’t get mad. He gets _annoyed_ sometimes, sure, and of course they argue sometimes just like any couple, but Curtis is always genuinely willing to try and see his side of it and meet him in the middle or at least explain without blame or judgment why he can’t. He’s so patient and so kind and he doesn’t deserve what Shiro is so afraid is about to happen.

 

“I shouldn’t have asked him what a tri-bonding was,” he groans, and he shuts his eyes, thinking maybe if he can pretend he’s talking to himself that might make this easier. It doesn’t. He goes on anyway. Every word feels like he has to tear it out of his chest but he knows this conversation has gone beyond the point of no return and he can’t stop now even though he knows what it’s going to mean and what’s going to happen if he doesn’t shut up. “But I did, and he had to go and explain the whole thing to me and now I--I know I shouldn’t even be thinking about this, baby, _I’m sorry,_ but I--I just--I can’t stop thinking about what it’d be like if we could be together like that, the three of us, you and me and Adam--”

 

And there it is. 

 

He’s said it out loud. And they are _not_ on the same page, not on something like this. They can’t be. His marriage is over. He’s sure of it. Curtis isn’t going to yell at him, isn’t going to get mad, because that’s not how he operates. He’s just going to get up, and go back down that ladder, and go inside and pack a bag and leave his ring on the nightstand and he’s going to leave.

 

But he doesn’t.

 

All Curtis does is drape his arm across Shiro’s waist and snuggle up close to him and let out a deep sigh, like he’s been holding his breath the whole time Shiro has been babbling. “Babe... you know I don’t say ‘I told you so’ but...”

 

“I’m sorry,” Shiro whispers, petting Curtis’ hair. “I’m so sorry--wait. What!?”

 

Curtis picks his head up and gives Shiro a little sheepish smile. “I think just this once I kinda have to?”

 

* * *

 

Keith’s a smart kid, isn’t he? Always has been. He’s been watching. Listening. Adam should have known it’d only be a matter of time before he figured it all out.

 

“You’re still in love with both of them,” Keith says again. This time, it’s not a question.

 

And now that someone’s said it out loud, he can’t deny it anymore. Adam drops his face into his hands and nods helplessly, and neither of them says anything for a long, long time.

 

Keith finally gives him a kind of awkward pat on the back. “It’s okay.”

 

“No it’s not,” Adam whimpers, unable to pick his head up much less look Keith in the eye. “Keith, _what the fuck am I supposed to do about this?”_

 

* * *

 

It’s okay. _They’re_ okay.

 

Shiro doesn’t know how and isn’t sure he even believes what’s happening right now but they’re okay, Curtis isn’t going to leave him, he’s not even upset--hell, he’s _relieved._ And it’s such an unspeakably huge load off Shiro’s mind, to know that Curtis has been struggling with the exact same thing he has, to know they’re in agreement on it, to know they both want the same impossible thing and for a few minutes all Shiro can do is just hold Curtis tight and pet his hair and kiss him all over his face, because he feels so much fucking _better_ about all of this.

 

“When did you figure it out?” Curtis eventually asks him, and he laughs a little. “I mean. If you don’t mind me asking.”

 

“I, uh... hmm.” Well, when _did_ he realize it? The painting was what made him admit it to himself, but when did he first _feel_ it? “You know... I’m not sure but... I think it was when you came home, when I hugged him that first time, it just felt... it felt like it should have been weird but it wasn’t, and... I don’t know. What about you?” Shiro asks, and Curtis just lets out a little embarrassed laugh and hides his face in Shiro’s chest. “When did _you_ figure out you had a thing for both of us?”

 

“Don’t laugh.”

 

“I won’t.”

 

“When did I _first_ figure it out?” Curtis doesn’t answer for a minute. “When we were cadets,” he finally mumbles, with another little bubble of laughter.

 

“Oh damn, baby.” Shiro pats his shoulder and sputters out a laugh of his own. That would actually explain a lot about Curtis’ love life before Adam, wouldn’t it? Shit, it’d explain why Curtis was so happy to see him and Adam get together. “Maybe I will laugh. Just a little. Why didn’t you say something?” He realizes it’s kind of a dumb question before it’s all the way out of his mouth. “Okay, no, I get why you didn’t say anything, that’s not really something you just--y’know. But--all this time?”

 

“Um, well... not exactly? Kind of on and off? It’s--to be honest it’s--it’s not that I _forgot,_ but--” Curtis shrugs. “You two got together and I was fine with that. And then you got sick, and all I cared about was you being okay and Adam being okay. And then we thought you died on Kerberos, and then we thought Adam died in the invasion, and--” He shakes his head again. “Long story short, a lot of stuff happened that made me think it’d never be on the table, but... then he came back, and you were both here, and you were both safe and then--well, _that_ came back too.”

 

Right. Adam came back. And Shiro saw the way he was looking at those pictures on either side of the fireplace. He knows Adam was happy to see them and happy to see them _together,_ but then all of a sudden he started trying to avoid both of them, and then he freaked out and ran off to Daibazaal because...

 

Because... oh, _shit._

 

Shiro pulls back a little, so he can look Curtis in the eyes. “Do you think that’s why he left? Because he could tell how we felt and it spooked him, and--”

 

“Actually...” Curtis lets out a little laugh. “God, I wish we could have all just used our words before it got to this point. I think it was the other way around. I think what spooked him was how _he_ felt.”

 

“What are you saying?” He can’t be saying what Shiro thinks he’s saying... can he? “You think he still--”

 

“I _know_ he does. He came right out and told us in so many words.”

 

Shiro frowns and tries to think of when he would have done that, tries to replay every conversation since Adam came home and comes up empty. “When?”

 

Curtis pats his shoulder and pushes himself upright. “Come back inside,” he says. “Let me show you something.”

 

Shiro isn’t sure what he expects when he follows Curtis down the ladder and back into the house, but he sure doesn’t expect to see Curtis pluck that memory card off the back of that picture frame and plug it into the TV.

 

It hurts to watch this again, for so many reasons, and he’s a little relieved when Curtis fast-forwards through part of it. But why are they watching it? Why now? What did Adam say in that video that could explain--

 

“I love you so much.” Adam says on the screen, and hearing those words in Adam’s voice again hits Shiro so hard he barely registers what comes next: “Both of you. I always will.”

 

Curtis stops the video and puffs out a little laugh. “All this time. It was--” he waves a hand at the mantel--“It was _literally right here in front of us_ all this time.”

 

“But--” Shiro shakes his head. There’s no mistaking the tone of Adam’s voice when he said that. He meant it. But... did he really mean it like that? He couldn’t have meant it like _that,_ right? 

 

Then again... he wasn’t counting on coming back. If he wasn’t counting on coming back... if he thought that video would be his last message to them, why would he say anything in it he didn’t absolutely mean with all his heart?

 

_I love you so much. Both of you. I always will._

 

Oh, shit.

 

It all makes so much sense, when Shiro is sitting here looking at it in the rear view mirror in his mind. 

 

_I don’t want to cause any trouble._

 

Adam kept saying that, didn’t he? And Shiro sure didn’t know what kind of “trouble” he was talking about, and neither did Curtis, but...

 

Shiro thinks back over every single interaction they had since Adam came home. He was trying to be so careful about where and how long he looked, where his hands went, what he said, everything. He flinched that day after his first time back in the simulator, when Shiro touched his arm, but he didn’t say anything. If that bothered him, why didn’t he say anything?

 

If it bothered him when Curtis tried to help him with his aching hand at rehearsal that night, why didn’t he say anything?

 

He didn’t say anything because... because he was afraid they’d ask him _why_ it bothered him.

 

And that day they both met him outside his room to try and talk to him? As Shiro himself was just thinking, Curtis has a knack for convincing the people he loves to open up when they want to the least but need to the most, and if this thing was eating at Adam’s heart bad enough that he felt like running off to Daibazaal was the only other way out...

 

He wanted to tell them. No--he _needed_ to tell them. And he knew that if he’d let them into his room, if Curtis had asked just the right questions in just the right soft non-threatening non-judgmental tone of voice, he _would_ have told them. And he was scared absolutely shitless of what he thought would happen if he did.

 

 _I don’t want to cause any trouble,_ Adam kept saying, and now Shiro understands exactly what kind of “trouble” he was so afraid of causing. He thinks back to the day Adam left, when he asked if there was anything they could say that would change his mind, the look on his face that said _yes, there is._ And all at once, Shiro knows exactly what they could have said.

 

It should have been obvious. And if he or Curtis or both of them had figured this out sooner, if they’d told each other how they felt and then gone to Adam and told _him_ how they felt, told him it was okay if he felt that way too, maybe none of this would be happening right now, maybe he and Curtis wouldn’t be sitting here in the middle of the night with Adam on the other side of the universe--

 

“Curtis...” Shiro squeezes his shoulder. “We can fix this, right? We can--if we just _tell him,_ we can still--please tell me it’s not too late to fix this.”

 

“I don’t know.” Curtis just snuggles against him. “But I think we should try, don’t you?”

 

* * *

 

“You’re asking _me?”_ Keith laughs. “I mean, I know basically zero about love shit in general and even less about, like... poly love shit and it’s up to you in the end. But it kinda seems to me like there’s really only one thing you _can_ do? Other than keeping it bottled up forever or, y’know... fucking off halfway across the universe. And not that we don’t appreciate having a really badass pilot around, but those options don’t really seem to be working out for _you_. I’m just saying.”

 

Oh God. That’s what Adam was afraid of. “I can’t. I-I’ve done enough damage and--look, I can’t ask Takashi for that! I left him, remember? He was _dying_ and I--”

 

“Oh my God. Adam. _How._ How can you be one of the smartest people I’ve ever met and still be this pants-on-head _stupid_ about--” Keith leans back and rubs his forehead like this whole conversation is making his brain hurt. “You know he never blamed you for that!”

 

Yeah, Takashi told him as much, in so many words, that morning in the kitchen. And Adam can’t come up with a single viable defense against that. He’s running out of ways to stall and all he’s got left is the nuclear option--redirect like hell. _“You_ blamed me,” he points out, “and you were right to! I could have stayed with him until the launch but no, I couldn’t do that, I was a selfish _asshole_ and you were the only one with the guts to say it--”

 

Keith’s eyes go wide. It takes him a few tries to form a response that’s even the least bit coherent. “That wasn’t ‘guts!’” he finally splutters. “That was--that was teenage hormones and weapons-grade anger management issues! Of course I was pissed off at you for leaving him! I was pissed off at my mom for leaving me! I was pissed off at my dad for dying! I was pissed off at literally _everyone for everything!_ I punched you for trying to talk some fucking _sense_ into me _,_ Adam! And I just told you I didn’t know you--” Keith shuts up suddenly, shaking his head as if to clear it. _Shit._ He’s wise to this. “N-never mind!” he yelps, at a high enough volume and pitch that Kosmo wakes up and does that head-tilt thing. “This isn’t about--”

 

“Are we going to talk about the part where you were right about _literally fucking everything?”_ There’s a desperate edge in Adam’s voice and he knows there’s no way Keith isn’t picking it up but he doesn’t care. Keith is going to put him on the ship and take him home and march him right up to Curtis and Takashi’s front door and ring the doorbell or even worse, handcuff him to Kosmo and have him poof them both right into their living room and _he cannot have that_ . _“_ Because you were right about literally fucking everything! Takashi being alive? Sanda covering shit up? I mean, I still don’t want to know how you heard about them not being on the ship, much less how you got your hands on all that military-grade comm equipment out in your shack but--”

 

 _“Stop changing the subject!”_ Keith wails. Kosmo tilts his head the other way. “We’re not talking about me! Just--God. This is stupid. Just--just tell them. Okay? It won’t hurt anything for you to--”

 

“Just tell them? It won’t _hurt?_ Are you kidding me!?” Adam wails back. “Are you understanding that the doomsday scenario here is not ‘neither of them are okay with this,’ it’s ‘one of them is okay with it and the other isn’t?’ If neither of them is on board with it that’s fine! That’s great! It’d hurt like hell but at least I wouldn’t have to live the rest of my life knowing that I _ruined their marriage!”_

 

Keith just blinks at him. “Adam.”

 

_“What?”_

 

“Were you this dense when I was a kid? How the hell did you and Shiro ever--or you and Curtis--ugh, forget it.” Keith sits back and takes a deep breath and looks like he might be silently counting to ten or twenty or a hundred. “Look. You’ve been to their house. You’ve seen their living room. You’ve seen the _pictures._ You saw where they put the one I just caught you sitting there sadfacing at. Why the hell do you think they put it _right in the middle of the mantel_ like that!?”

 

_Adam.exe has stopped working._

 

Why else would they put that particular picture there? And they don’t just have that picture of him, do they? He didn’t think much of it at the time, but... mixed in with all the pictures of Takashi and Curtis separately and together with their friends and families, weren’t there pictures of him and Takashi, and him and Curtis...

 

Both of them, with him. 

 

Well... that didn’t necessarily mean anything though, did it? They both _missed_ him, sure--when they thought he was dead, they both missed him and they both wanted to remember how important he was to them before, but--

 

Could he really still be that important to both of them?

 

They couldn’t both still be in love with him, could they?

 

Of course not.

 

But then again... they haven’t taken those pictures down.

 

“You know what, that’s it,” Keith sighs. “I’m calling them.”

 

“Wait, no--”

 

Keith takes his phone out and wakes it up. “Either I call them, or you call them, or I start packing up your crap for you. Your choice.”

 

“I-I don’t have to take this from you!” Adam spits, jumping up off the bench, and Keith just laughs in a way he really doesn’t like.

 

“Yeah,” he says, “you kinda do. One, I still outrank you. And two--” He nods towards the patio door, which Kosmo’s ponderous floofy bulk is still quite effectively barricading. “You’re kinda stuck out here with me till he moves. And he won’t until I tell him to.”

 

Kosmo looks up at Adam and gives him a look that must surely be the space wolf equivalent of a great big shit-eating grin.

 

“Man’s best friend, my _entire_ ass,” he snaps. But he takes his phone out of his pocket anyway.

 

* * *

 

“You’re sure about this?”

 

Shiro swallows hard and runs the palm of his hand down Curtis’ spine. He _is_ sure about this. He feels like he shouldn’t be. He’s about to make a decision that could change the course of all three of their lives, no matter how it ends up. It should be the hardest decision he’s ever had to make.

 

But it’s not. It’s not hard at all. 

 

He loves Curtis. He loves the life they’ve built together. He loves thinking about the future they’ll have together. And he knows Curtis loves him just as much. There’s nothing missing from their relationship. What they have together, the two of them--if that was all they had, it would be enough. More than enough. 

 

But it’s _not_ all they have, is it?

 

Ever since the day Shiro realized he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Curtis, he’s paused on a near-daily basis, taken a moment to think about just how lucky he really is, at least when it comes to his love life. Most people only find the kind of love he found with Curtis or Adam once in their lives. Some don’t find it at all.

 

He found it twice. So did Curtis. So did Adam. All of them, with each other.

 

How amazing is it that they’ve all found that kind of love with each other and now all three of them have a chance to hang on to it?

 

When he thinks about it like that... there’s really no other option here. They’re connected so deeply already, they’ve _been_ connected for so long, what they’re considering right now is just... it’s the only sensible thing to do.

 

“Yeah,” he says, and Curtis stretches up to kiss him. “I’m sure. Are you?”

 

“Absolutely,” Curtis says. He pushes himself upright and heads to the bedroom. He comes back a minute later with his phone. This isn’t something they should do over the phone, not with galaxies between them. But they _can_ arrange a time to do it in person...

 

“If this all works out we’re gonna need a bigger bed,” Shiro sighs, and Curtis breathes out a little laugh as he scrolls down to Keith’s number and hits the call button.

 

* * *

 

“Wait. No. Stop. _Stop!_ I’m going to! Look, I’ve got my damn phone out, okay!? I just--”

 

“Call them or I do it for you,” Keith threatens again. He pulls up his contacts list and starts slowly scrolling down to _S,_ maintaining the most menacing possible eye contact with Adam while he does. 

 

“S-stop looking at me like that!” Adam splutters, backing away. “You’re freaking me out!”

 

_“Good.”_

 

Adam looks down at Kosmo. _Help me, Doggy-wan Kenoggy, you’re my only hope,_ he pleads silently. Kosmo does not help him, and he does not move. “I-I’m just saying, what if--Takashi’s shitty parents are _just now_ talking to him again, what if--”

 

Keith’s phone rings. 

 

All of time and space stops dead in its tracks. Adam forgets how to breathe. Keith, oblivious to any of that, just looks down at the screen.

 

“Huh,” he says. “It’s Curtis.”

 

Adam feels the bottom drop out of his stomach. _Oh God,_ he thinks crazily, _he heard the whole thing!_ He shakes that off--of course he didn’t hear anything, that’s silly, but the timing is just uncanny. “Don’t tell him,” he begs. “Please Keith for the love of fucking God _don’t tell him.”_

 

Keith sighs and puts it on speaker. “Hey, Curtis.”

 

“Hey, Keith,” Curtis says, and Adam hears another _hey, Keith_ in the background--Takashi. “I know you’re--oh crap, I didn’t even check the time! Sorry! I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

 

“No, no. You’re good. What’s up?”

 

”Oh, whew. Listen, I won’t keep you too long, but we were just wondering... are, uh... are you and Adam going to be back in this neighborhood anytime soon?”

 

Curtis is trying to sound casual, but Adam knows him way too well and he knows better. They’ve been talking about something. Something serious. And now... now they want to know when they can see him in person. Adam feels his heart pounding in his ears and he’s certain he’s either about to pass out or throw up. Possibly both. He wakes his phone up and checks Arizona time. It’s... it’s four and someodd in the morning. Curtis and Takashi get up early, but this is _stupid_ early even by their degenerate morning-person standards. Why are they both up and calling Keith at four in the morning? What serious thing have they been talking about at _four in the goddamn morning!?_

 

Unless... 

 

Oh. Oh no. Oh _shit._

 

“Well...” Keith reaches over with his free hand and pats Adam on the shoulder. “We actually just got back from a mission, we’re on Daibazaal right now and we could probably take a couple days off and swing by. What’s up? Everything okay?”

 

“Yeah...” Curtis actually laughs a little. “Yeah. Everything’s fine. We just, um... we kind of, well...” There’s some muffled back-and-forth. 

 

“We just want to talk to Adam about something and it kind of needs to be, uh... in person,” Takashi says. “I mean, if you’re busy that’s fine, it’s just... y’know. Personal stuff.”

 

_Personal stuff._

 

_It needs to be in person._

 

Oh God. They know. Adam doesn’t know how the fuck they could unless he was just being that obvious about it despite his best efforts, but there’s no doubt in his mind. What the hell else could they have been talking about at four in the morning, that they’d need to talk to _him_ about!? They know how he feels. And--

 

They want to tell him it’s not going to happen and they respect him enough to do it in person instead of just relaying it through Keith. Yep. That’s got to be it. He can’t even put words to the other possibility. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up. He doesn’t want to go into this hoping to hear something he’s not going to hear. 

 

But... what if...

 

“Hang on a sec,” Keith says, and he does not take his eyes off Adam. “Let me check our schedule...” He hits the mute button on his phone, and he still does not take his eyes off Adam.

 

Adam doesn’t say anything. 

 

He could avoid the whole mess. Stay out here with the Blades. Do some good. Help some people. Hang out with his kid. Make up for lost time because contrary to what Keith might think, none of that was bullshit, he really does feel terrible about sitting the whole damn war out, and there’s a lot of work that needs done out here and the Blades let him do it without giving him grief about his eye or his hand or whatever.

 

Or he could go home and hear Takashi and Curtis out. And then, if what he wants is something they can’t give him, he can come back with Keith and stay with the Blades until he gets it out of his system. If nothing else, they can all get some closure on this and get on with their lives.

 

Or...

 

Adam takes a little risk, lets himself wonder _what if,_ what if they want the same thing he wants and none of them ever get it because he was too afraid to face them again... what if he’s _this_ close to actually having this impossible thing he wants so badly and he just... walks away from it?

 

He thinks about what he said to Xa and Shu. He thinks about how reluctant they were to try and work things out with Rel, how they were ready to just drift around in space forever rather than try to reconcile with him. He thinks about how that worked out for them. About his own heart breaking at the sight of it, because he didn’t think he’d ever be able to have that with the two men he loved.

 

He thinks about what he did before that, flying through the asteroid belt for the first time since the crash. That amazing feeling when he realized he’d done something that scared him so much, that feeling like he could do anything. And that sour little voice that just had to pop up in the back of his head to offer its shitty little two cents...

 

Adam sets his jaw and offers that little voice two things right back--both of his middle fingers.

 

* * *

 

Curtis hangs up, and he lets out a long and sort of shaky breath. He pulls up his calendar app and adds a reminder for three o’clock that Sunday afternoon: _pick A & K up. _As if he’s going to forget. “Okay. It’s on.”

 

Takashi nods and snuggles in close. “You really think he’s going to go for this? After--”

 

“I don’t know.” Curtis wraps both arms around his shoulders and kisses the top of his head. “But at least he’s willing to come back and talk to us. That’s someth--” His phone pings then, and he frowns down at it, then he lets go of Takashi just long enough to pick it up and check. “Huh.”

 

“What’s up?”

 

Curtis doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. He just shows Takashi the text Keith sent:

 

_We were talking when you called. Couldn’t say this out loud w/him right there but I think he figured out what he needed to figure out._

 

Takashi spends a long, long time staring at that text. “Does that mean...”

 

Curtis sputters out a laugh. “I hope so.” 

 

Takashi just flops back against the arm of the couch and takes Curtis with him, and Curtis snuggles into his chest, and for a few quiet moments all is right with the universe and everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.

 

And then both of their phones start screaming--Curtis’ phone on the end table, Takashi’s in the bedroom. Curtis nearly jumps out of his skin. Takashi yelps and bats Curtis’ phone halfway across the living room before they both realize what that racket is--and what time it is.

 

Curtis quietly fetches his phone and shuts the alarm off. Then he goes to the bedroom and shuts Takashi’s off. Then he comes back in and sits back down on the couch. 

 

Neither of them says anything for a while.

 

“So...” Takashi clears his throat. “Maybe let’s, uh... skip the gym today?”

 

Curtis nods and flops back onto Takashi’s chest. “Great idea.”

 

* * *

 

Tonight will be Adam’s last night on Daibazaal, and so there’s no real need for him to go to HQ today. They never got around to making the lock recognize him, so he’s kind of stuck at the apartment until Keith gets home. Which is just as well. He doesn’t have much to pack, but there’s some very important work he needs to do here before he leaves.

 

The apartment door opens that afternoon and Keith comes in, laden with bags. “Hey,” he says. “Ezor told me to give you these--” He drops a bag on the couch and pulls out a few packs of Comet Crunchies in various flavors. “And Zethrid said to tell you she’s going to miss having a pilot with a sense of humor, and Acxa wants you to give this to Veronica, and oh damn, something smells good--wait, what are you doing?”

 

“Did you get them?” Adam asks, holding out his free hand.

 

“Yeah, but--” Keith rummages through another bag and pulls out a big box of the Daibazaal equivalent of freezer baggies. “What the hell are you doing!? Adam, c’mon, you don’t have to do this, this is--this is all your stuff anyway.”

 

“Don’t need it.” Actually, Adam isn’t sure he doesn’t. He doesn’t know where he’s going to be living, after all. He resigned. He doesn’t have his dorm room anymore even if Takashi and Curtis cleared all his stuff out and stored it for him, and he knows Takashi and Curtis will probably let him stay over again even if this doesn’t go the way he hopes it does. But he can’t count on that being a permanent arrangement, not yet. And if he doesn’t end up coming back with Keith again, he’s going to have to find a job. _Ugh._ Well... he’s still got that lump of back pay sitting in his account, that’ll get him into an apartment and pay his bills for a few months, maybe he can get some gently used studio equipment and slap a few stock tracks together or find a bar or a skating rink or whatever in need of a DJ because as much as he loves teaching, public school is a whole different environment than what he’s gotten used to at the academy and even if he goes that route it won’t start drawing a paycheck until the fall...

 

But all of that is going to have to be a problem for Back On Earth Adam. 

 

For now, he grabs the baggies, takes a pot of soup off the burner, and sets it on a trivet to cool before he packs it up for the freezer. “And yes, I do have to do this. I told you, you’re not living off alien Pop-Tarts and shit while I have anything to say about it, and I still have something to say about it.”

 

“But--you’re not taking the pots and pans and stuff?” Keith protests. “I can’t use those! _I can’t cook!”_

 

“I know! And that’s why a) I’m cooking all this stuff for you while I’m still here so it won’t die in the fridge and all you’ll have to do is dump it in a pot and heat it up, and b) I’m going to educate you.” He checks the venison stew, finds it cool enough, and starts spooning it into baggies. “If _Takashi_ can learn how to make soup and casserole and shit, so can you. Did you plant those brineapple seeds like I told you?” 

 

Keith rolls his eyes and tries to look put-upon, but he can’t quite keep from laughing. “I can’t do plants either!”

 

“Can you put them in a pot of dirt and put it outside and forget it’s there? That’s how you do brineapples. Trust me, in a couple of movements you’ll never need to buy salt again.” Adam puts the stew in the freezer, opens the fridge to get some vegetables and cheese for the yardbird casserole, and pauses for a moment. Two jars of Yohnn’s chili paste--right, Keith had picked out his own jar, hadn’t he? And one bottle of Mellari’s best and sweetest nightberry mead. 

 

At the time, Adam wasn’t sure why he’d bought those. But now he remembers the first time he came home, how he’d brought gifts for his parents but none for Takashi or Curtis....

 

“Hey,” he says, taking the mead and his jar of chili paste out of the fridge. “You mind if I take these home?”

 

“Like I said?” Keith shrugs. “It’s your stuff?”

 

“Cool.” Adam sets those items aside and points Keith towards the cutting board. “Now grab a veggie and let’s work on those knife skills.”

 

Those knife skills, as it turns out, are passable. Keith can slice and dice the things he wants to, and not the things he shouldn’t (i.e. his fingers). The rest... needs a little guidance. Keith might just be humoring him, Adam figures, but he’s paying attention and he actually manages to turn some vegetables and sausage into a decent pasta sauce more or less on his own by the end of all of this.

 

When all of the food is cooked and portioned out and packed away in the freezer, Adam lets Kosmo pre-wash the pots and pans save for the one that’s full of tonight’s dinner. 

 

“I still think it was pants-on-head stupid of you to come here,” Keith tells him while they’re eating on the patio, while Adam is taking in what might be his last Daibazaal sunset for the forseeable future.

 

“But,” Adam prompts.

 

“But it’s been really nice having you around.” Keith tosses a little bite of meat to Kosmo and watches him snap it up. “I’m gonna miss this.”

 

“Me too, kiddo.” Adam opens his mouth to say something, something about there being a non-zero chance that he’ll be coming back to Daibazaal once this is said and done after all, but decides against it. “You just liked bossing me around,” he says instead.

 

“Well-- _yeah?”_ Keith laughs, and Adam reaches up and ruffles his hair.

 

* * *

 

Shiro scoots into the kitchen and stuffs his phone back in his pocket while Curtis is pouring and squeezing and sprinkling things over a bowl of chicken early Sunday afternoon.

 

“That was Keith.” Shiro pauses to hang over Curtis’ shoulder and take a nice deep whiff of the exquisite aroma wafting up from that bowl while Curtis turns the chicken over and moves it around to anoint all of it. “They’re running a little late, they picked up a distress call on the way, had to tow someone to a repair dock so... about five-ish?” Shiro knows this would be a spectacularly bad idea, especially when it’s the chicken kind, but every time Curtis makes this stuff he has to fight back an urge to just pick up the bowl and chug the marinade. 

 

 _But it smells so good,_ pleads one voice in his head. _A little sip won’t hurt anything._  

 

 _Salmonella will hurt many things,_ scolds another. 

 

“Cool.” Curtis washes his hands, covers the bowl with cling wrap, and shoves it into the fridge. “Plenty of time for the magic to happen. Don’t even _think_ about it, I swear to God--” He points an accusing finger at the fridge as the door shuts. “Ooh. I need to go back to the store, I forgot the sour cream.”

 

“Okay. Hey, get some of that nasty black--”

 

“Black stuff. Right. Ugh, we’re going to have to start keeping that crap in the house.”

 

“Worth it.” Shiro comes up behind Curtis and wraps an arm around his waist. “I hope we’re right about this.”

 

“Relax.” Curtis leans back against him. “If nothing else we’re all going to have a nice dinner and talk about it and get it all out in the open so the three of us can decide what we want to do. And then...” He shrugs and turns his head to press a lingering kiss to Shiro’s jaw. “We’ll just take it from there.”

 

* * *

 

It’s weird.

 

When Adam first made this decision, the decision to come home and hear Curtis and Takashi out, it felt good. It felt like a release. Kind of like flying through the asteroid belt for the first time. He slept great, had pleasant dreams, and woke up ready to take on the universe.

 

And then it came time for him to get his stuff and climb aboard Keith’s ship and take off, and it hit him.

 

He’s going home for the specific purpose of talking to Curtis and Takashi about this thing that’s been eating at his heart and this time there isn’t going to be a way out of it.

 

And now Adam sits in the co-pilot seat, a human-shaped mass of anxiety. Keith is flying, because he’s too nervous. Too nervous about what he’s going to say to Takashi and Curtis. Too nervous about what they’re going to say to him. About the possibility of rejection and what comes after. About the possibility of acceptance and what comes after. About literally fucking _everything._

 

He’s wound up like a coiled spring and practically vibrating in the co-pilot seat. Keith tried kicking him out of the cockpit a few times, told him to go walk it off or play with Kosmo or something, but it didn’t help and eventually he just gave up.

 

Then Adam remembers something Curtis tried to gently hammer into his head once--imagine the worst thing that could happen. Then imagine the best thing that could happen. What’s probably going to happen? Something in between.

 

So... what’s the worst thing that could happen? Well shit, that’s easy. Takashi and Curtis never speak to him again and this whole issue destroys their marriage and then his parents hear all about it and have some strong words for him about being a homewrecking asshole, and worst of all Keith has to watch his Earth family tear itself apart again and rightly blames him for it and won’t let him come back to the Blades and he ends up back on Haven making pottery and cheese for the rest of his life because he was a dipshit and threw his career away.

 

What’s the best thing that could happen? He’s been trying not to think too much about this, trying to keep his expectations realistic, but... Takashi and Curtis sweep him off his feet and take him home and somehow they all get married (there’s got to be planets where they can do that, right? Melkorians can’t be the only people out there that are cool with polyamory?) and everyone’s family is fine with it and even Takashi’s shitty parents come around to the idea or else someone puts them on a rocket and fires it into the fucking sun, either way is fine. And they never argue and they have two-point-five wonderful children and they have a cat and a dog and Takashi never tries to deep fry anything ever and Curtis never drives and everything is perfect.

 

What’s probably going to happen? Something in between.

 

It won’t be perfect all the time if they accept, and it won’t be the heat death of the universe if they don’t. And it may sting for a while if it’s closer to the “heat death of the universe” end of the spectrum, but he can live with it. Really... knowing would be better than going on the way he’s tried to for the last few weeks, wouldn’t it?

 

Still...

 

“I’m gonna call Cherrin real quick,” Adam says as they pass Saturn.

 

“Uh... okay?” Keith gives him a little side-eye as Adam pokes on the comm panel. “Why?”

 

“I just want to make sure Xashurel didn’t move into my house. Y’know. In case this all goes entirely to shit.”

 

Keith rolls his eyes and huffs out a little exasperated noise and swats Adam’s hand away from the console.

 

* * *

 

The fridge is still on its best behavior, much to Curtis’ relief. The guest room is clean, though Adam hasn’t been out of it long enough for much of anything to build up in there that needed to be removed and there wasn’t much to do but put fresh sheets on the bed. There’s plenty of time for them to get showered and dressed. 

 

Curtis knows that. So does Takashi. Knowing it hasn’t kept either of them from getting ready a lot sooner than they really need to. 

 

He wonders if Adam liked that new aftershave he’s been using. Takashi likes it, but he hasn’t had a chance to ask--well, that’s not exactly a question one _can_ ask someone one isn’t dating without it being weird. But if this goes well... yeah, he’ll ask. 

 

For now, he buttons up his shirt--a dress shirt in that shade of dark blue Adam used to love on him--and ducks back into the bedroom. “How do I look?” he asks, and Takashi picks a little bit of fuzz off his shoulder.

 

“Sexy as hell, same as always. Should I wear the black shirt or the purple one?”

 

This again? Curtis can’t help but laugh, though. Of course Takashi wants everything to be perfect. “You look great in both of them. Just flip a coin!”

 

“You’re no help.” Takashi stands there staring at his shirts until Curtis finally sighs, gently takes the black one from him, and hangs it back up. Now freed from that decision, Takashi goes into the dresser for a pair of socks. “Hey, I was kidding about the bed thing the other night but do you think maybe we should call the furniture place and--”

 

“That can wait.” Curtis gives him a little drive-by peck on the cheek as he cruises by to grab his shoes. Maybe they’re putting the cart before the horse as it is--stocking up on black licorice, clearing some space in the closet and dresser, putting an orange toothbrush in the holder in the master bathroom and a mug with an _A_ on it next to the coffee machine (they’re still trying to source a new _cadet tears_ mug). There’s a lot they’ll need to talk about, after all. Even if Adam _is_ on board with this--and Curtis suspects that’s what Keith meant he’d figured out--he might not want to dive in headfirst right away. Still, it’s fun to think about, and having an extra toothbrush and coffee mug around for him isn’t a bad idea even if he’s not ready to move in full-time yet. “I’ve got the guest room ready for him for now. Actually, that might just end up being _his_ room? He’ll probably want some space of his own. Especially if he wants to set his music stuff up again...”

 

“Yeah,” Takashi sighs. “That’s true. Hey... maybe we should take him shopping, let him pick out some sheets and curtains and stuff, let him paint it if he wants...”

 

“Ooh. Good idea. And if he _does_ want to share...” Oh, Curtis knows he shouldn’t say this, not yet, but he just can’t help himself... “Babe, if any two of us could fit in a dorm single, I _know_ we can all fit in a queen.”

 

 _“Curtis!”_ Takashi laughs and reaches back to swat him on the ass and he ducks out of the way just in time.

 

* * *

 

They’re early. Shiro knows they’re running ahead of schedule but he can’t help it and neither can Curtis--Curtis insisted on driving, and how could Shiro say no to that? And they’re standing there, just outside the landing pad where Keith usually parks when he’s home, scanning the sky for a speck of purple. 

 

Curtis spots it first, and Shiro wonders who’s flying. He feels Curtis’ arm slide around his shoulders, and he wraps his own around Curtis’ waist, and they stand there and watch as Keith’s little ship gently cruises in.

 

“I love you,” Shiro says as it slows to a hover over the landing pad. “No matter what happens with this, I love you so much.”

 

“I love you too.” Curtis gives him a squeeze and a soft kiss on the lips. “Maybe I was wrong about this not changing anything but... it’s not going to change _that._ Nothing will ever change that.”

 

The ship sets down, and the thrusters and engines cut off. Nothing happens for a while. Shiro can’t help but wonder if Keith is threatening to handcuff Adam to Kosmo and have him teleport them both out here.

 

But then the hatch opens, and the boarding ramp slides out, and--

 

“Oh, holy crap,” Shiro catches himself saying aloud. Curtis makes a noise that Shiro doesn’t know how to describe or even _spell._

 

All right. Adam went off to join the Blade of Marmora. Which, obviously, meant he would probably get a Blade suit. And he would wear that Blade suit while he was off doing Blade stuff. For some reason, this knowledge did not translate into the expectation that Adam would wear that Blade suit home. 

 

It definitely did not translate into any idea what that Blade suit would look like with Adam in it.

 

“He, uh,” Curtis stammers. Shiro can feel the ear pressed against his temple heating up. “God, he looks good in that.”

 

“Yeah he does,” Shiro laughs. 

 

* * *

 

When Adam steps out of the ship he doesn’t know what to expect. He figured Takashi and Curtis would probably meet them here, even if this wasn’t going to go the way he hoped surely they wouldn’t just have a taxi waiting for them or something like that, surely they would come themselves.

 

What he _didn’t_ expect to see was Curtis’ arm draped over Takashi’s shoulders and Takashi’s arm wrapped around Curtis’ waist and both of them dressed like they’ve got a hot date--Curtis in a pair of those slim-cut jeans that show off his miles and miles of legs and a shirt in that shade of dark blue that makes his eyes sparkle like stars, Takashi in a purple dress shirt that looks like it’s struggling to contain his shoulders and his chest and a pair of black jeans that fit like he’d been dipped in them. Adam doesn’t know which one of them to stare at, and then he quickly reminds himself that maybe he shouldn’t be staring at _either_ of them.

 

He tells himself to look away. Keep his eye on the ground a few feet in front of him. But before he can tear his gaze off them he glances up at their faces instead, and--

 

All the way back from Daibazaal, Adam racked his brain over what to say when he got here, what to tell them about how he felt, what he’d say if they took it badly, what he’d say if one of them took it badly and the other didn’t, everything. But now he sees the way they’re looking at each other, and the way they’re looking at _him,_ and he knows he won’t have to say a word.

 

He will swear for the rest of his life that he had every intention of being cool about this. He even takes a few perfectly normal, perfectly calm steps in their direction even though his heart is pounding in his ears and he’s in imminent danger of ugly-crying.

 

He’s fine until Takashi and Curtis start walking towards him. And even then he manages to keep it mostly together, but when they break out into those huge radiant smiles and open up the arms that aren’t around each other to him he feels something inside him come loose and he doesn’t care who else is watching, he doesn’t care what happens, he just desperately needs to be _there._ He breaks into a run and when they reach each other he throws his arms around both of them and clings to them like his life depends on it, losing himself in the warmth of their embrace and the scent of bayberries and evergreen forest and that cheap drugstore stuff that has no business smelling that good on anyone but Takashi.

 

It doesn’t feel the way it felt at the Grand Canyon all those years ago. It feels better. So much better. Because this time, they know. Adam still doesn’t know how the hell they know, and he doesn’t care because he can feel it in the way they’re holding him and each other.

 

They know he still loves them both, and it’s okay.

 

“I’m sorry,” Adam whimpers, and one of them tries to shush him, he’s not sure who, but he needs to say this. “I’m sorry, I should have just told you--I didn’t mean to--I didn’t think you’d--I’m sorry, I won’t do that again--”

 

“Shh. Adam.” That’s definitely Takashi, and that’s definitely Takashi’s floaty hand stroking his hair. “We know, baby. It’s okay. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

 

“We should have said something too.” Curtis buries his face in the side of Adam’s neck. “We should have said something to each other, we should have said something to _you--_ let’s just--let’s all promise we won’t ever let it get to that point again, okay?” His voice breaks and Takashi pulls him in tighter.

 

“Oh shit,” Takashi sputters. “Don’t do it.”

 

“Oh no.” Despite everything, Adam puffs out a little laugh. “Sweetheart, no, _don’t cry--”_

 

“I’m _sorry!”_ Curtis half-wails, half laughs and... that’s it. That’s all Adam’s anti-ugly-crying defenses can stand, and he’s sure that with both him and Curtis bawling it’s only a matter of time before Takashi does too. He does, just a little, but mostly he just holds on to both of them and lets them cry. And it’s okay. It’s all okay. When they’ve all gotten it out of their system Curtis and Takashi both hold Adam tight and shower him with kisses while he laughs through his tears--his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, everywhere they can reach. Curtis catches his lips first and it’s just the way Adam remembers it, it’s soft and sweet and makes him feel like the most loved person in the world.

 

“Hey, save me some of that,” Takashi chuckles, and Curtis laughs and pulls back to let him in and--oh _fuck,_ that’s just the way Adam remembers it too, one of those slow soul-deep kisses that takes his breath away and threatens to turn his legs to jelly.

 

Adam thinks he sees a flash of light when they finally come up for air, but he’s not quick enough to catch it and besides, he’s got other stuff going on and it doesn’t fully register. All he can do is just hang on to both of them and bury his face in the warm space between their shoulders. This should feel weird, he thinks. They’re tri-mates. A triad. A threesome. A polycule. He’s the filling in a love sandwi--okay, no, _he is absolutely not that,_ he’s drawing a goddamn line there, that’s just silly. The point is, he never expected to find himself here, in both of their arms, and even as much as he’s hoped and imagined and longed for this, actually being here should feel strange. But it doesn’t. It feels like the most natural thing in the world.

 

“I can really--” He gulps in a breath, and he feels an arm tighten around his waist and a hand rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades. “I can really have this? With both of you?”

 

“You can really have this.” Takashi kisses his temple. “We’re all yours.”

 

“Come on, let’s go home,” Curtis sniffles against the side of his head. “Hey, Keith!” he calls towards the ship. “You ready?”

 

“Huh,” Takashi mutters. “Is he still in there? I thought I saw him get out.”

 

“Probably just getting it ready to lock down, I guess. Give him a minute.” Adam pulls back, a little reluctantly; he wipes his eye with his sleeve and oh... he shouldn’t do this, he really shouldn’t, but... “Takashi’s driving, right?”

 

“H-hey!” Curtis splutters. He looks to Takashi for backup. Takashi just shrugs. “Not this again! I’m from Houston! We _all_ drive like that!”

 

“You learned to drive in Arizona,” Takashi points out, and Curtis huffs.

 

“Yeah, okay, I see how it is,” he says, trying to sound hurt but the twinkle in his eyes gives him away. “We’ve been tri-mates for like _five minutes_ and you two are already ganging up on me.” Takashi holds out his hand and wiggles his fingers, and Curtis gently slaps the fob into it. “Okay. I guess y’all don’t want the fajitas I’ve got marinating in the fridge _right this very minute...”_

 

“Whoa! Hey!” Takashi yelps, clinging to one of Curtis’ arms while Adam holds on to his other one and laughs so hard he starts crying again. “C’mon, baby, don’t do us like this!”

 

“Yeah, I’ll just take Keith home for dinner and drop you two comedians off at Taco Bell--” Curtis looks around, confused. “Where _is_ he, anyway?”

 

“Eh, he’s probably getting his stuff off the ship or whatever. Adam’s right, let’s just wait for--” Takashi shuts up suddenly as a very familiar car pulls up to the landing pad. “That’s, uh...”

 

 _“That’s your car!”_ Curtis splutters, breaking into a run. He’s by far the fastest of the three of them, but Adam and Takashi aren’t far behind and when they catch up they see Keith smirking at them from the driver’s seat and Kosmo riding shotgun with his head hanging out the window and his tongue hanging out of his mouth and dog drool running down the door because after all, space dogs are still dogs.

 

“Really, Keith?” Adam says. _“Again!?”_

 

“I got the bags and stuff, it’s all in the trunk,” Keith says, and he jerks a thumb towards the back seat. “You can all fit back there, right?”

 

The three of them stare at each other for a moment.

 

“I call window,” Curtis calls, scooting into the back seat.

 

“What he said,” Takashi says, with his biggest shit-eatingest grin. “After you?”

 

 _“Dick,”_ Adam grumbles, and that just sets Curtis off laughing.

 

Adam tries to look put-upon as he scoots into the middle of the seat and lets Curtis and Takashi squish him in but really... this is exactly where he wanted to be.

 

* * *

 

There’s still a lot they’ll need to talk about. Of course there is. None of them have ever been in this kind of a relationship, after all, and this whole thing is uncharted territory. 

 

But Adam was counting on having to explain his feelings to Curtis and Takashi, and they were counting on having to explain their feelings to _him,_ and they were all counting on having to have a whole big serious discussion about whether or not that was an arrangement they’d all be okay with trying, and those first few minutes after Adam came out of that ship and right into Curtis and Takashi’s arms wrapped the answers to all of those questions up into a nice neat tidy little package of _oh hell yes._

 

So they don’t need to have _that_ part of the conversation. And that frees them up to enjoy the evening, to enjoy finally being together and all on the same page, to just relax and enjoy the company of the people they love.

 

When they get home, Adam and Keith change into their human-people clothes, and then Keith wanders off to the model room to see what’s new there. Takashi pulls Adam onto the couch with him, and Adam settles back against his chest and watches Curtis work on the rice and beans and salsa and stuff.

 

“I feel like I should be helping you with that,” Adam says. Takashi pats his stomach, and Curtis just shakes his head and laughs.

 

“You _are_ helping me. You’re keeping him out of the kitchen.” 

 

“Aw, c’mon!” Takashi laughs. “I can handle the sides!”

 

“Look, we’ve been over this,” Curtis sighs; he tries to sound put-upon but the wink he flashes Adam gives him away. “I do the marinade and the sides. You handle the grill. And _you--”_ He points at Adam with a spatula. “Keep him busy while I’m doing my thing in here.”

 

“You got it,” Adam says, and he twists around to plant a kiss on Takashi.

 

“Mmm.” Takashi grins against his lips. “M’kay. This is more fun than cooking.”

 

Adam thinks he hears a little _yesss_ from the kitchen and wonders just how often Takashi tries “helping” in there and just how often it goes wrong.

 

“Oh, hey!” Keith comes back into the living room with that poor squashed box covered in alien _return to sender_ stamps. “I, uh... I don’t know what happened but... better late than never, I guess?”

 

Oh, right--Curtis and Takashi’s wayward anniversary present. Come to think of it, Adam never did see what it actually was, did he? He sits up so Takashi can take the box off Keith’s hands, and Curtis lets the sides fend for themselves for a minute to come see.

 

The box all but falls apart at the lightest touch of Takashi’s fingernail to the tape holding it together. There’s a great deal of packing material that somehow managed to not escape until now, and nestled in the middle of it is a dark stone tablet about the size of a paperback novel, with something engraved on it in sharp angular script and filled with something that glows with a warm golden light. It’s gorgeous, and Adam is a little surprised it actually survived ...whatever atrocities the intergalactic postal service committed against the box.

 

“Oh, wow.” Curtis leans over Takashi’s shoulder to get a better look. “That’s beautiful! ...what is it?”

 

“It’s, uh...” Keith scratches at the back of his head and laughs. “Galra calligraphy. It’s your names, but--maybe I should have waited? I could get another one done, with _all_ of you on it--”

 

“You don’t need to do that.” Adam just takes the little tablet from Takashi and sets it on the mantel, right next to that picture of the three of them. “You’re saving up for a house, c’mon.”

 

“It’s not a big deal, it’s--” Keith laughs and shakes his head. “There’s a street artist in the park that does them, I mean--it’s not pocket change but it’s like...” A slow and kind of wicked grin spreads across his face. “About as much as a couple packs of _meatfruit?”_

 

Adam shudders. “Please don’t remind me about the fucking _meatfruit.”_

 

They move out onto the patio so Takashi can throw the chicken on the grill. Keith gets Kosmo’s tennis ball out of the empty flowerpot it tends to stay in when it’s not being chased and whips it out into the yard. Curtis eases the rubber band out of Adam’s ponytail, puts it on his wrist, and buries his fingers in Adam’s hair as if he’s been dying to touch it since the first time he saw it.

 

“You’re gonna keep that, right?” Takashi asks, and Curtis breaks out in helpless laughter. Adam just lets his eye drift shut and makes little contented purring noises as Curtis’ long, gentle fingers work through his hair. “I mean, it’s your hair, do what you want but I’m just warning you, he’s gonna cry if you cut it.” He flips the chicken over with a deft flourish of his tongs. “I might too.”

 

Curtis’ short fingernails scritch gently along Adam’s scalp and he murmurs out a little noise he hopes they understand means _oh don’t worry, I’m not cutting it, not if he’s going to do_ that _with it._

 

When the chicken is done, Curtis and Takashi both head back into the kitchen to do whatever they need to do to finish up the fajitas and fajita accessories.

 

“You sure I can’t help you with anything?” Adam asks them as Curtis holds the door open, and Takashi just shakes his head.

 

“We got this,” he says. “Just relax.”

 

Adam almost presses the issue... but in the end, he lets it go. It’s been a long day. So he just settles in and takes a deep breath, smells fresh cut grass and the ghost of the chicken still hanging around the grill, and watches Kosmo chase his ball around the yard. Keith plops down on the other end of the bench, and Adam laughs a little. 

 

“You knew, didn’t you?” he asks as Kosmo brings him the ball. He gingerly pries it from between Kosmo’s teeth and flings it out into the grass again, and Kosmo tears off after it. “You knew they’d be on board with this. Did they tell you?”

 

“No, they didn’t, and I really didn’t know. But...” Keith just shrugs. “I... kinda figured it’d work out. I know you guys.” Kosmo brings the ball back to him, and he throws it again--maybe a little too hard. “Uh-oh...” Kosmo runs after the ball like a normal dog--until it goes over the fence. 

 

There’s a flash. Then there’s a bewildered _what the hell!? Honey, come look, it’s that space dog again!_ from the neighbors’ yard. There’s another flash, and Kosmo drops the ball on Adam’s feet while the neighbor frantically tries to convince his wife that the space dog was _right there,_ no, he wasn’t drunk and no, this wasn’t a prank. 

 

Adam and Keith listen to that little bit of drama play out and laugh quietly. “Maybe I should go tell them...” Keith shakes his head. “Nah. So... I guess you’re not coming back with me, huh?”

 

“No, I think I’m going to stick close to home for a while.” Adam thinks about that for a moment and sighs. He feels silly now, ditching the Garrison and running off the way he did when all he needed to do was just _tell them..._ “Hit me up if you need me, though? I might need some part-time work if I can’t find a job soon...” 

 

“A job? What’s wrong with the one you have?”

 

Adam looks up and sees Takashi’s head sticking out of the open back door. “You mean the one I threw away because I was a dumbass and--” The grin on Takashi’s face and Keith’s soft snickering are clearly meant to tell him something, and that something can only be... “You told Admin not to process my resignation, didn’t you?”

 

“Nah, of course not. They processed it.” Takashi’s grin grows a little wider and a lot more radiant and it melts Adam’s insides into a puddle of warm honey. “They processed it right through the shredder. I told Command you just needed a little more time to decompress. They didn’t even fight me on it. So yeah, you still have your teaching job, and all that stuff Keith’s been sending me is going to help get you back in the air too.”

 

Adam shakes his head. “...what stuff?”

 

Keith looks away, but not quickly enough for Adam to catch the smug look on his face. “I might have been sending Shiro your flight data. Like... _all_ of it.”

 

“Sending him--” Wait. Shit. “Is _that_ what you and Cherrin were doing in the wreck!?”

 

“He didn’t know you were--oh, man.” Takashi shakes his head and busts out laughing. “Come on in and eat. We’ll explain everything.”

 

* * *

 

Curtis’ chicken fajitas are every bit as amazing as Adam remembers. What’s even more amazing is sitting here at this table with Takashi and Curtis and not having to stress out about what he says or where he looks or where or how long he touches. It’s okay. He can relax now. And so can they. That strangeness that had been hanging in the air between them is gone. There’s nothing between the three of them now but the love they all have for each other.

 

Keith, for his part, looks relieved that his Earth family isn’t being all weird at each other anymore. And he does tell Adam everything. Every bit of flight data he’d been sending Takashi. All of it. That first flight from Earth to Daibazaal. That training flight. Every shift he flew on patrol. Keith even got all the flight data and the cockpit voice recorder data from the wreck on Haven, and statements from Durva and Cherrin about the crash, and Adam can’t wait to throw all that shit right up in Command’s collective face.

 

Talking about the wreck reminds Adam of the stuff he brought from Haven, so he excuses himself for a minute to get the jar of chili paste and the bottle of mead.

 

Takashi goes for the chili paste first, just like Adam thought he would. He loves it. So does Curtis. Both of them try to be cool about how good the flavor is and how nice the little sparkle of citrus in the background is, and all the while Adam just grins because he knows Yohnn’s slow-burn hell peppers ought to be kicking in any time now...

 

And then they do. Curtis chugs his whole Coke in one breath and Takashi desperately tries to put out the fire with a whole-ass spoonful of straight sour cream.

 

“Good?” Adam prompts, and Curtis splutters out a little laugh.

 

 _“So_ good,” he wheezes, and Takashi just nods and eats a spoonful of guacamole.

 

When they’ve finished with dinner, Curtis opens up the mead and pours himself and Takashi a glass. “You want one too?” he asks Adam. “I know you said it’s really sweet but I should probably ask...”

 

“You know,” Adam starts, “I think I will. Just half a glass?”

 

“You got it.” He glances at Keith over his shoulder. “And, uh... how old are you now, anyway? I mean, factoring in all the weird time stuff--”

 

Keith just stares at him while Adam and Takashi snicker behind their hands. “Really?”

 

“How far ahead were you after that whole quantum abyss thing? Two years?” Takashi asks him. “I dunno, that’s still cutting it kinda close...”

 

“But you lost _three_ with the time warp thing,” Curtis points out, and Adam catches the twinkle in his eyes and knows Curtis is absolutely going to pour Keith a glass but just has to have a little fun first. “So you’re actually a year younger than your ID says... mmm, I don’t know.”

 

“Well, yeah, that’s a little iffy but...” Adam clears his throat. “You know I wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for him.” He means it in the same light teasing way Curtis and Takashi do, but before it’s all the way out of his mouth the bittersweetness of it hits him. It hits Curtis too, and Takashi, and he knows they’re all thinking the same thing.

 

If Keith had been patrolling a different area that night... if he’d been any farther away from Haven... if he’d written that distress signal off as an interesting bit of space noise... if any one of a hundred thousand little pieces had fallen anywhere other than where they did, Adam wouldn’t be here and none of this would be happening right now.

 

But he _is_ here, and this _is_ happening, and without another word Curtis pours Keith a glass too.

 

They don’t say anything, but there’s some unspoken command in the air that makes them all wait until Curtis is back at the table with his glass, compels them to gently clink their glasses together before they take a sip.

 

Adam just takes a small sip, and even that’s almost too much. He swears he can feel his tastebuds and the very enamel of his teeth squirming in discomfort under the onslaught of dark honey and ripe berries. Takashi and Keith seem to like it. And Curtis...

 

“Ooh.” Curtis takes that first sip and his eyes drift shut like he’s floating off to heaven. “That _is_ good.”

 

Adam just laughs and pours the rest of his mead into Curtis’ glass.

 

* * *

 

Adam turns in first. He takes the guest room for tonight, and that’s fine. They figured he probably wouldn’t be ready to share the bed this soon, though he did make some noises about going in tomorrow to get the rest of his stuff out of his dorm room.

 

Keith doesn’t last much longer. He’s never been shy about just passing out quietly when he’s had enough for the day. Shiro offers to drag the airbed in for him, or put it in the model room, but he just waves a drowsy hand. So Curtis brings him a blanket and a pillow, and he gives them a thumbs-up and stretches out on the couch, and he’s out. Kosmo is curled up in front of the couch, his chin resting on the tennis ball tucked between his forepaws.

 

While Curtis is putting the last of the dishes in the dishwasher, Shiro meanders down the hall to their bedroom. At least, that’s where he means to go. But once again the door to the guest room is open, just a crack, and once again the pale light of his shoulder falls on Adam’s arm.

 

This time, he’s not embarrassed when Curtis’s arms slide around his waist while he’s watching Adam sleep.

 

“This is really happening,” Shiro whispers, and Curtis nods.

 

“It’s really happening.” Curtis kisses the side of Shiro’s head, and Shiro leans into it.

 

There’s something he wants to do. He pats Curtis’ hand, and Curtis lets him go. Like he knows what Shiro is thinking, and he probably does. He probably wants to do this too.

 

Quietly, Shiro slips into the guest room-- _Adam’s_ room, now--and leans down to touch a soft kiss to his forehead. 

 

Curtis slides in behind him and does the same. Maybe it’s just a trick of the light, but when Curtis straightens up again Shiro swears he sees just the faintest little smile on Adam’s sleeping face.

 

He’s alive. He’s okay. 

 

He’s home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: hehe I think I'll write a nice quick little "what if Contingency Plan-verse but Adam came back" adashurtis one-shot
> 
> Me, six months and 120K+ words later: oh no
> 
> There's a short epilogue to come, and this behemoth of a fic will finally be done. It's been a long, fun ride, y'all.


	9. Epilogue

 

_"So... your cabin or ours?”_

 

_“I think mine’s a little bigger and I got a--well, I’ll show you. Just bring your pillows and stuff over.”_

 

_“Sounds... interesting? Yeah, text us when you get off, we’ll catch up with you soon as we’re free.”_

 

_“We’re probably just going to feed them and turn them loose on the rec deck and clock out but you know how that goes.”_

 

_“Heh. Yeah, I know. Okay, I should probably let you get to sleep so--oh hey! What are y’all wearing right now?”_

 

_“A seashell bikini.”_

 

_“...singular. Guess which half I’m wearing and which half Takashi’s wearing!”_

 

_“Augh! God, you’re getting way too good at this...”_

 

_“Not the first time you’ve said that to me. Love you, sweetheart.”_

 

_“Love you, Curtiepie.”_

 

_“Love you both. See you tomorrow.”_

 

* * *

 

On most mornings like this one when Curtis was out on the _Atlas,_ the alarm still would have gone off at that same ungodly hour. Takashi would have rolled out of bed first, and Adam would have gotten up shortly thereafter. They would have had their coffee, and gotten their uniforms and bags together, and then they would have left for the gym. Normally Adam prefers to go after work, but when Curtis is away he doesn’t want Takashi to feel lonely so he drags his ass up and goes in the morning. He gently holds that fact over Takashi’s head all day, but he can’t even pretend to be mad when Takashi gives him those puppydog eyes. They would have gone to work by way of that diner, and had lunch at the chow hall, and then they would have come home. And after dinner, they would have called Curtis and sat on the patio, or on the couch, or sometimes in bed, and talked about all the little things that were happening in each others’ lives while they were apart, all the little things they missed.

 

Today is special, though.

 

They’re still up at the absolute asscrack of dawn, but today they put on their uniforms and grab their luggage and head straight for the Garrison, straight to one of the landing pads. Sitting on that landing pad is a cargo ship currently configured for passenger transport. 

 

They stow their luggage, and then Adam goes on ahead of Takashi. Takashi has cadets to wrangle, and Adam has a preflight checklist to start on. It’s funny, in a way. If someone had told his sixteen-year-old self that someday he would be practically vibrating with excitement at the thought of sitting in the pilot seat of a cargo ship, he would have laughed and maybe made a rude gesture or two. 

 

He’s just finishing up his part of the preflight checklist when Takashi comes through the cockpit door and settles himself into the co-pilot seat. “There you are. Everybody in?”

 

“Yep. Had one in the restroom, almost missed the boarding call, but we got him in gear.” Takashi looks over and snickers a little. “Hey. Shouldn’t I be sitting in the pilot’s seat? I outrank you.”

 

“Don’t give me that,” Adam says, and he tries to sound stern just like he always does but he can’t keep a straight face. “My ship.”

 

And it _is_ his ship. It’s got his name stenciled on the side and everything. Or at least, it’ll be his ship once summer rolls around and he’s flying cargo missions. For now, it’s an intergalactic school bus packed with excited senior cadets. Some of them have gone on this field trip before. Some of them are going for the first time. All of them are excited to get out of the routine of PT and classes and inspections and exams for a while, if nothing else.

 

And Adam is excited about spending some time in space with Takashi and Curtis. He's even more excited about flying with Takashi again, and he can tell Takashi is excited too. He’s practically bouncing in the co-pilot seat like he used to in the sims when they were kids.

 

Adam is glad to see Takashi like that again. He’s been through so much, and it’s left its mark on him. But he’s been working so hard. He’s so much closer to the way he was before Kerberos, before he got sick. Adam missed that playful side of Takashi, and he’s so grateful to Curtis for helping bring it back out. He still loves seeing them together, and sometimes he wonders if he even needed to leave them that video. ...no, no, he did. They might have gotten together without it eventually, but that would probably have depended on Takashi making the first move, and... yeah. 

 

Takashi finishes up his part of the preflight checks, they get their launch clearance, and Takashi tries to hit the intercom. Adam grabs his hand. “Nuh uh. Mine.”

 

“You’re not going to let me have any fun, are you?” 

 

“I will let you have plenty of fun. Just not right this minute.”

 

Takashi breaks out in a little grin with just the slightest wicked edge to it. “It’s not nice to tease, y’know.”

 

“Oh my God.” There’s a thunk behind them, like a forehead hitting the nav console. “Are you guys really going to do this again?”

 

“Sorry not sorry, Matt.” Takashi reaches back with that right hand to pat him on the shoulder. “You knew what you were getting into when you signed up to fly with us.”

 

“I did,” Matt sighs. “I did know and I raised my hand anyway and Shiro, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss flying with you but... guys, it’s a _twelve-hour flight_ and if I have to spend it all watching you two making kissy faces at each other I might have to open a window and jump out.”

 

“Uh... you can’t do that in space,” Adam points out.

 

_“Don’t tell me what I can’t do.”_

 

“Hey, wait till we get on board the _Atlas,”_ Takashi snickers. “Then you get to see three-way kissyface combos--”

 

 _“Takashi!”_ Adam tries to sound stern again and does an even worse job of it, so he just beams as he hits the intercom panel. He’s glad they got Matt for their navigator. They still need to be at least a little professional up here, they’re still on the clock, they’re still hauling a shipload of cadets who will at various points in the flight be brought up to check out the cockpit, but at least when it’s just them and Matt they can relax a little. “Good morning, cadets and crew, this is Commander Wolf, I’ll be your pilot today--” Ahh. _Pilot._ God, that feels good. “Your co-pilot is Captain Shirogane, yes, he outranks me, no, that doesn’t mean squat right now because this is _my ship--”_ There’s a wave of laughter from the passenger compartment. Takashi huffs and looks extremely put-upon, but he can’t hide the little sparkle in his eyes. “And your navigator is Lieutenant Holt. We’ll be lifting off in just a few minutes so I want buns in seats, seatbelts fastened, and carry-ons safely stowed _tout suite_ . Once we’re in the wormhole you can move about the passenger compartment, and we’ll start bringing groups of you up to the cockpit to look around. _Touch nothing._ Even if Captain Shirogane says it’s okay.”

 

“I would _never,”_ Takashi sniffs.

 

“He absolutely would,” Matt counters. “And _has.”_

 

“The crew will start passing out box lunches around 1200 hours. You will have two options for lunch and they are as follows: _take it or leave it.”_ There’s another eruption of laughter from the passenger compartment, and Adam grins and waits for it to pass. “We’ll be docking with the _Atlas_ around 1900 hours. There is no in-flight movie, please entertain yourselves but don’t make me come back there. Relax and enjoy your flight.” He hits the intercom switch again and takes hold of the throttle and the stick.

 

“Aw, c’mon. You’re not even gonna let me take off--”

 

 _“My ship,”_ Adam snaps. Then he reaches over and pats Takashi on the shoulder. “I’ll go take a coffee break once we’re in the wormhole, how about that.”

 

* * *

 

To be honest, Shiro was bracing for arguments about break time and he was a little afraid he was going to have to physically lift Adam out of the pilot seat and march him out of the cockpit every few hours. It turns out he was worried for nothing. 

 

Adam keeps his word the first time, and as soon as they’re steady in the wormhole he gets up and brings them all coffee. He only complains once, just because some cadets are about to come in for a look around and he wants to be there to show them all the cool stuff, and Shiro makes him promise to take his break after they clear out. And he does it. The cadets go back to the passenger compartment, and Adam gets up and stretches and wanders out of the cockpit for a few minutes.

 

He’s doing fine, and Shiro is so proud of him.

 

Shiro is on this trip as a teacher first and foremost, but he couldn’t pass up the chance to fly with Adam again. The truth is, he knows perfectly well that he’s on Adam’s turf, and Adam wasn’t kidding when he said Shiro’s rank didn’t mean shit up here. He never expected to sit anywhere other than the co-pilot’s seat on this trip. But that doesn’t mean he can’t give Adam a little gentle ribbing about it. 

 

When they pop out of the other end of the wormhole, they’ve still got another hour or so to go before they meet up with the _Atlas._ Shiro eases up on the enforced break time for that hour. Once they’re on board _,_ they’re not going to get any quiet time together until they give the cadets their _don’t act a bunch of rear ends in top hats and everything will be fine_ briefing and get them to their cabins to put their stuff away and then let them loose on the rec deck or whatever until lights out.

 

On the plus side, Curtis will be free to join them by then. But for now Shiro pointedly ignores the groaning from the nav seat and reaches over for Adam’s hand. Last chance before he cuts the autopilot off, after all. 

 

“I missed this,” Shiro says. He squeezes Adam’s hand.

 

Adam squeezes back. “I did too.” And then he has to let go.

 

When they dock with the _Atlas_ it’s as if Adam has never been anywhere else but this pilot seat. He pulls their ship into the shuttle bay as easily and casually as he’d pull his car into the garage. Shiro isn’t surprised. Adam has always been a great pilot. He was a little rusty for a while, and he had to learn to work around some new issues. But he did great with the Blades and he’s doing great now, and Shiro makes a point of ever so gently mashing that fact into Command’s face every chance he gets. 

 

He’s heard through some less-than-official channels that they’re talking about revamping the medical qualifications for flight duty and adding an appeal and requalification process.

 

Another thing about this trip that had Shiro a little worried comes to pass when they get off the ship--Iverson comes to the shuttle bay to welcome the kids aboard and deliver a firm but gentle warning not to act up on his ship, as he does, and Shiro keeps a close eye on Adam while Iverson is giving his spiel. But it’s fine. Iverson catches Adam’s eye at one point, and they exchange curt little nods, and that’s it. It’s fine. They’re still not really on speaking terms. Shiro knows Adam still doesn’t like Iverson and doesn’t blame him at all given what happened. But it seems that little altercation at the wall served to establish some pretty firm boundaries, and if nothing else the two of them can at least be civil to each other on duty.

 

Curtis is probably off duty by now, but there’s no sign of him in the shuttle bay. Shiro isn’t surprised. He knows they’re here working, and they have stuff to do before they can relax.

 

Once Iverson is done talking to the cadets, Adam leads them to their cabins to stow their bags. All along the way he stops to point out interesting things, and Shiro points out a few he misses. It’s fun to watch Adam in teacher mode like this. He really does love what he does, _all_ of what he does, and it’s good to see him finding joy in it again.

 

After that, they take the cadets to the galley for dinner. While they’re eating, Curtis drops a message into their group chat: _in the observation lounge, meet me up here when you can. ♥_

 

Shiro and Adam flash each other a little grin across the table.

 

Then they take the cadets to the rec deck and tell them to have fun and be back in their cabins by 2200. And they’re free. Unless the cadets start acting up and one of them is summoned to deal with it, they’re done for the evening. 

 

Tomorrow they’ll take the cadets to engineering and the bridge and the ag deck and some other places of educational interest. There are a couple of excursions planned, too--one to a mostly uninhabited planet for a couple days of hands-on xenowilderness survival training and some face-to-face interaction with friendly extraterrestrials (Adam tells Shiro that there are a few in particular he and Curtis need to meet), and one to the Space Mall. But for now they duck into their cabin, change into their human people clothes, and head up to the observation lounge.

 

The lift door opens and Curtis’ face lights up at the sight of them. He bolts off the couch he’d claimed for them and sweeps them both into his arms and holds them tight.

 

“I missed you,” he says, and he plants a quick kiss on Shiro’s lips. “And I missed _you.”_ And he gives Adam one too. “Everything go okay?”

 

“Smooth as silk.” Adam beams and snuggles into Curtis’ shoulder, and it’s the sweetest thing Shiro has ever seen. He loves seeing the two of them together like that. He’s so grateful that Curtis was there for Adam after he left. After everything that happened, Curtis was exactly what Adam needed in his life--a soft but steady shoulder to rest on, someone who would take care of him when he needed it but also help him learn to take better care of himself. Shiro is glad they had each other then, and he’s glad they’re getting to pick up where they left off now. “Matt’s running around here somewhere. I can’t imagine why he took off like that after we docked, he was only stuck in the cockpit watching us make googoo eyes at each other for what, twelve hours...”

 

“Oh my God, poor Matt--” Curtis wheezes out a laugh and drops his forehead into the snug space between their shoulders. “And in that twelve hours, how many times did you have to physically kick Adam out of the cockpit to take a break?”

 

“Not even once,” Shiro says, and he feels a fresh swell of pride. “He did great.”

 

“Aww.” Curtis gives them both a big squeeze and lets go. “Hey, come take a load off. I’ll get us some coffee.”

 

Mmm. Coffee. Good idea. The observation lounge is dark and quiet, and now that he’s sitting down on a comfortable couch with Adam snuggled up against his side, Shiro is starting to feel that twelve-hour flight catching up to him. So is Adam, judging by the huge (and highly contagious) yawn he lets out as he settles in. Coffee would be--wait. Shit. “Uh, when you say ‘coffee’ you do actually mean--”

 

Curtis turns away from the coffee machine, holds up his backpack, and quirks a conspiratorial eyebrow. No chicory, no dandelion roots, no--whatever alien bean water they sometimes pick up along the way. Just good old-fashioned Earth coffee from his husband’s private stash. Yes. Good. Perfect.

 

“Okay. Just making sure. Carry on.” Shiro wraps his arm around his other husband. “You tired, baby?”

 

“Mhm.” Adam scratches his nose on Shiro’s shoulder. “You?”

 

“Beat.” He gives Adam a squeeze and a kiss on the forehead. “We’re both gonna sleep great tonight, huh?”

 

“Aw.” Curtis sets two cups of coffee on the low table in front of them--one black, one with a splash of cream and a little sugar--and leans over to steal another quick kiss from both of them before he goes back for his own coffee. Is that... is that whipped cream peeking up over the top of the cup? Of course it is. “Okay. Who wants squished?”

 

“We should squish _you,”_ Adam suggests, and he starts to sit up. “We missed you too, y’know.”

 

“Aw, no.” Curtis shakes his head. “You look comfy there.” 

 

“Hey, he’s got a point. We’ve been on Earth together and you’ve been sleeping alone.” Adam scoots over a little, and Shiro scoots the other way and pats the warm space on the couch between them. “C’mon.”

 

“Oh, okay, God, twist my arm--” Curtis flops down between them, and they both snuggle in against his sides. Shiro shuts his eyes and breathes in the scent of evergreens and bayberries and the ghost of that spicy soap Adam likes and even here, even half a universe away from Earth, he feels like he’s home.

 

“So... I have kind of a surprise in my cabin,” Curtis says, twirling the end of Adam’s braid around his fingers because of course he can’t wait to play with it. “But tell me about everything I missed first.”

 

* * *

 

Of course Curtis can see Adam’s mind racing at the thought of what kind of “surprise” he might have in his cabin. Takashi’s too. But they’ve had a long flight and a busy day and he’d like to let them have some time to unwind and just gaze out at the stars before they go to bed.

 

Still... if they unwind much more, they’re both going to pass out right here and Curtis can’t carry both of them. So they finish their coffee and their conversation, and the three of them head for his cabin by way of Adam and Takashi’s so they can grab their pillows and bags. 

 

“So,” Curtis says as they come in and he shuts the door behind them, “I was a little worried about our, uh... bed situation...”

 

“Ooh.” Adam winces a little. “Yeah, should we just pile all our pillows and blankets and shit up and make a pallet, or--”

 

“Nope. We ran across a trade ship the other day, turns out they had exactly what we needed.” Curtis sets a little black cube that just fits in the palm of his hand on the floor. Wait... no, the little arrow on top is supposed to be facing the other way, right? “So if this works the way it’s supposed to...” He gets it into the position where it should, theoretically, work as advertised and not cause any property damage, and takes a little fob out of his pocket. “Uh... y’all might want to stand back.”

 

“Curtis--” Takashi looks like he’s bracing for an explosion, going so far as to gently sweep Adam and Curtis behind him. Curtis can’t help but grin when Adam peers over his shoulder. He loves seeing them together like that again. He’s always loved seeing them together but now, after everything that’s happened, it’s especially amazing. They’re both still strong-willed as ever, and once in a great while they still butt heads a little. But they’ve both gotten so much better about talking their issues out instead of just bottling it all up, and Curtis is so proud of both of them. “Is this dangerous?”

 

“...no?”

 

Adam just stares at the cube over Takashi’s shoulder. “You’ve tested... whatever this thing is, right?”

 

“Oh, sure.” Curtis waves a hand. Well... not this exact one, he played with the floor sample, but... eh, whatever. “Okay. Here goes nothing.”

 

He pushes the button on the little fob. Nothing happens for a moment, nothing except a soft hiss. And then there’s a series of poofing noises. The cube expands and unfolds and flops this way and that and somehow, from that tiny little cube, somehow there bursts forth a comfortable-looking airbed just big enough for the three of them if they get cozy. Curtis suspects that won’t be a problem.

 

“Holy _shit!”_ Adam sputters, and Takashi just doubles over laughing because the thing isn’t done, there’s one more little _pffffffffTHOOMP_ and from some hidden pocket a pair of pillows and a blanket launch themselves over the bed to land exactly where they need to be. Now it’s done. 

 

Curtis drops the fob on the desk, tosses the rest of the pillows onto the bed, and grins. “So, um. There’s basically no room for anything else in here now and if one of us has to pee in the middle of the night _that_ could be an adventure, but--” Curtis laughs and scratches at the back of his head. “It beats sleeping on the floor?”

 

It didn’t take Adam long to get tired of sleeping in his room. Curtis had figured working out their sleeping arrangement would take a few nights of trial and error. But they settled into one that made them all happy the very first night, even if Takashi did wake up with a mouthful of Adam’s hair that first morning.

 

Adam always preferred to be the little spoon, but especially now--he feels safer and sleeps better with someone snuggled up against his back, though he does tend to crawl over Takashi and burrow down in the middle if he has a nightmare or just needs a little extra comfort. Usually, Takashi is in the middle. Like Adam, he likes having his back covered, and he’s happy to cover Adam’s. And Curtis likes being the biggest spoon. He likes the feeling of being curled up around both of them, likes the idea that he’s doing what he can to keep them safe, and his arms and legs are long enough that he can keep a little precious bit of contact with both of them. 

 

But when Curtis climbs into the bed this time, Takashi squeezes in on his left and nudges him over, and Adam climbs in on his right, and Curtis just laughs and wraps his arms around both of them. He’s fine in the middle too, if it means getting snuggled like this.

 

The bed is comfortable enough. A little softer than Curtis normally likes, and the blanket is a little thinner than they all normally like, but it’s fine. It’s big enough to hold the three of them, and that’s all that matters. Well... almost all that matters. Maybe at some point in this trip they’ll see how it holds up to the frisky stuff. But not tonight. 

 

They don’t go to sleep right away. Curtis makes Adam and Takashi let him up just long enough to open up his laptop and search the unofficial _Atlas_ streaming service for something relaxing to watch. Then they settle back in and cuddle and talk while cute wild animals do their thing and some famous voice narrates on the screen and Curtis thinks about how incredibly lucky he really is, to have what he has with both of his amazing husbands.

 

There was a time, not so long ago, when Adam thought he’d never see Earth again.

 

There was a time when Takashi thought he wouldn’t live to see his thirtieth birthday.

 

There was a time when Curtis thought both of them were gone forever.

 

Just a few short months ago, none of them ever imagined their lives would be like this. But here they all are, snuggled up together half a universe from home, watching nature documentaries and talking about the little things that have happened over the last week or so like they’ve never spent a moment apart or had the slightest reason to doubt they’d ever end up anywhere but this.

 

The conversation slows as Takashi and Adam start to lose their battle with sleep, tapering off to the occasional semi-coherent mumble, and Curtis doesn’t bother trying to pay attention to the animals on the screen anymore. Instead, he looks down at his chest where Takashi’s flesh-and-blood hand rests and Adam’s hand lays gently curled over it, and he smiles and touches a single soft kiss to both of their foreheads before he settles back and shuts his eyes too.

 

It’s going to be an amazing trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wheeze*
> 
> AND IT'S DONE. Thanks for coming along on this long and winding feels trip! There are a couple more stories to tell in this 'verse, one of them involving a very important trip to Altea, so I don't think I'm quite done here yet. :)


End file.
